The Sweetest Taboo
by Peebles96
Summary: What if Veruca Salt hadn't taken her father to the factory but her older sister. Based on JohnnyDepp-Wonka film. Romance/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Hurray for editing process Prototype 1! Oh, remember that first scene of Chapter One? I believe Sonny Salt was looking around the outside of the factory or something? Well, that part was very confusing so I'll be cutting it out; can't be confusing you all, now can I? And I will try and not make Sonny so much as a Mary Sue anymore, really make her a fitted real person, y'know?

**Chapter One**

Alison's life was very exceptional, even though she was living with two culturally sophisticated people as her legal guardians. Although that was the least of troubles, as anybody would wish to have her parents; they let her do whatever she pleases because to them, nothing was too dangerous, too expensive, or downright wrong for her. Her life was pretty much very wondrous, very privileged, and yet it was all boiled down to a fruitless mush. Her little sister, Veruca, would tell you otherwise; she loves the privileged life and as we all know, nothing good comes from spoiling a child and that was what happened exactly to Veruca. She went sour, by the age of four, before that Alison used to call her Sweet Pea but now - all she does is want, want, want. When she doesn't get what she wants, she cries or threatens to run away when Mother tries to calm her down. The only time she ever squealed with delight was when her Father got her another pony. She was every snotty rich person's dream and what gave Super Nanny her show.

In spite of everything, Alison couldn't help but wonder if she happened to be placed in the wrong family, speculating about just what happened in the delivery room or what kind of backroom-deal went down. She knew that she was born to Angie Salt right in Buckinghamshire Starr Hospital (for the wealthies like us) and yet sometimes she wondered if her real parents should have been some cool bohemian artist-types with perhaps a loft in New York or maybe even San Francisco. Then again, she was probably just daydreaming to get her mind off of how pointless life was becoming.

It was all repetitive, over and over, as though she was trapped in this _grayness_, swallowing her alive and she couldn't do anything. It was this complete nothing-space, as though something should have been there but wasn't. She hated that, and she desperately wanted to claw herself out. She hated this grey area, this nothing-space, just living life because it was there. If you were in that space long enough you got comfortable, and then clawing your way out didn't mean anything, it wasn't important.

So, you might as well know that just because that my name is Alison doesn't mean she enjoyed being addressed to as so. Sometimes, just saying it loud made her want to retch; Alison really was a lovely name, but it just gave the wrong message. It meant "noble kind" making it a very WASP-like name and while it was nice to feel noble, the name began to quietly make her head spin, so she went by the nickname of Sonny. Obviously, her Mother was expecting a prudish, socially devout, waltzing ray of sunshine when she was looking through baby names. Instead she got her - surprise. No waltzing and certainly no sunshine.

Sonny was not usually this foreboding, but this was what happened in this grayness. You lose interest in things, this grayness devours your soul and gnaws at your ingenuity, it impedes her expression. She avoided now what before she enjoyed - confused, she tried to think it led her back to nowhere again, that nothing seems to help, it limited her conversations. If she wasn't so skilled in drawing, she could been a really good poet.

Drawing, though, was one of the few things that seem to have a little purpose; one of the things she didn't avoid. It was something that started out as a shape or a piece of fruit could turn into an image that peered into your soul. Another thing had to be my friend Tory. Despite the staggering odds against her, she managed to find the best friend a sad rich girl like herself can ever hope for: the one, the only, Tory Smeath, she was the one who nursed her back to social health.

Her head hurt, and she was all alone in her room. Mother was most likely by the minibar, chatting idly with the hired help, Father was still at that Salt Peanuts' meeting, and Veruca had lacrosse practice now - it wouldn't be long before she whacked one of the teachers in the head with her stick. All alone, scrunched up in the middle of her cushy bed, the air was still permeated with heavy gloom. The telly was blaring with some obnoxious jingle about spring and waiting for the flowers to bloom. Sonny slipped off the heels she'd worn last night - Tory had invited her to go one of her lower-class neighborhoods, West Egg, for some party - and wondered if her parents had noticed at all why their eldest daughter looked so exhausted and hollow-cheeked.

It was early out, and there was a lot of sunlight bouncing off the walls. _What is wrong with me? _That question just kept echoing in her ears, as she was trying with every strength she had not to cry, so instead she let quiet sobs shake my whole body; no tears, just ragged sobbing noises. _It just makes no sense, I mean, my life is practically perfect, I'm talented, I have a great friend among other great, amazing things about my life - so why have I fallen into this abyss and going quietly insane? _Nothing was going to matter anymore.

So she might as well go have some chocolate while she waited for the sobs to go away. That was another of the few things she didn't avoid: chocolate. It _was _the best medicine and it seemed as though she was in desperate withdrawal right now.

. . .

(Disclaimer: I know some of you are probably go "WTF?" right about now. Well, get this, my mom was going through all the documents on Sweetest Taboo I saved and she asked me, "Why is this Sonny chick acting all Emo? Is she depressed?" You could imagine how offended I was, I mean, Sonny was not Emo - or was she? Because I enjoy being right, I did some research and you won't believe this but all of those feelings Sonny is feeling, about her life and all the pressure she's been feeling are actually some symptoms of depression. Sonny Salt is depressed - yeah, I know, shocking. What could make someone so depressed, so grasping for any little bit of happiness, you ask? Well, I'll say this, little things, no matter how little, can add up. Even a greeting can change someone's day from horrible to OK, or one little negative comment can change someone's day from OK to horrible. Horrible to terrible, terrible to unbearable, unbearable to the point that you can't take it anymore and go over the edge. It is really sad. Anyway. Back to the story.)

. . .

She really thought that the young man behind the counter wanted to kiss her chocolate-tasting lips; when she first came into the candy store - Sweet Haven, right down Cherry Street in a town that was a bus ride away from Buckinghamshire - and told him her name, he gave her what Tory called an "I'd tap that," nod. Now personally she didn't enjoy thinking that every guy she met thought of me as a potential one-night stand but somehow it was flattering. _I mean, if this man finds me attractive, then who else wouldn't? _

She found Sweet Haven a couple of nights back, driving around with Tory in her Ford, occasionally pulling up into a parking lot to drink American beer. "The best kind," she said as she watched Sonny take hers in small sips. "Try not to hold your breath so much like drinking it, the smell only gets worse." Before you ask, they did not drive drunkenly home; after drinking - or this case, sipping - they had just sat there in the car, quietly ruffled by the fact that life was really going slow and that they couldn't have fun anymore.

Now the young man smiled at Sonny broadly, "Glad to see you returned to our services." _There he goes again, acting all suggestive, blinking his goo-goo hues again. _"You never fail to show up." Sonny didn't want to admit that the reason she only began to show up was because of Willy Wonka's factory that was just a few streets down; it was pleasant to look at every once in a blue moon, even if its Modern Gothic structure just made Sonny's stomach turn. She didn't want to find anything depressing to say about Wonka's factory, after all, recently it was starting to give her a sense of not hope but what was beginning to feel like joy.

She pointed towards a row of dice-shaped lollipops with patterns of white on each face behind the glass container of the counter; she liked to relish chocolate in the privacy of her home so the lollies would do. "That one, please?" She tried not to let some impatience seep through, leaning slightly on the glass counter.

The young man gave her the lollies without ease.

"Say, is it true that Willy Wonka's factory is really the biggest one in the world? Really?" She asked this for both the sake of conversation and because she just didn't feel like going home to sit quietly in her room, wracked with boredom and growingly meaninglessness.

"Good heavens, Miss Salt, whoever told you that wasn't deceiving you! It's about _fifty_ times as big as any other!" He couldn't help but exaggerate to add to the effect, but it was true, that factory was _that_ big, he demonstrated with his stringy arms, earning a smile from Sonny and her saying, "Aren't you the memoir weaver?" _Goodness, who ever thought a factory could be that big; the place must have about seventy or more rooms. _

"I'll tell you," The young man took a rag from his pocket and started to wipe down the spotless counter. "He's the most ingeniously, spectacular, remarkable man in the world - the universe. Don't you know no other?" He teased, leaning a little to close for comfort towards Sonny.

"Don't you?" Asked a little boy coming inside sporting a cap backwards, popping a bubble before he stood beside Sonny, on his tip toes as he had his elbows on the counter. "Ease off the lady, man!" He wrinkled his nose at how the guy was leaning at Sonny and with a flush he leaned back, scrubbing the counter with more force, probably from the embarrassment he felt.

Sonny held herself straight, having been taught to try and set a good example for the little ones around her.

"He's the most inordinate man ever." The little boy said suddenly. "That's what my mum says but she doesn't understand genius when she sees it." The young man had a small bar of fresh gum in his hand as the little boy counted and handed him two quarters before taking the gum. "My mum says she is observant, that she sees everything perfectly with her own two eyes. But she can't! She can't say that Willy Wonka is magic! That he could make a new flavor out of thin air and that's a fact, girlie!"

Sonny hoped the little boy would keep talking, it'd give her more of an excuse to stay, that way, should one of the hired help ask where she was, she could say that a friend was jabbering on and because she'd been taught that it was rude to interrupt long-winded people she stayed through the jabbering til the friend finished.

The young man nodded. "My grandpa says that Willy Wonka makes chocolate bars more creamer, more marvelous, more greatly sweeter, and more delectable than any other chocolate company! Lord wishes he knew what went on in that man's head!"

"My friend Blake says he sends all of his delicious chocolates to all ends of the entire world and each time you'd bite into it, it's like making a home-run with the crowd cheering!" Said the boy.

"It's like every time you feel the gooeyness sink into your teeth, a new baby is born," remarked the young man.

"He's made jellybeans taste like petunias!" Added the boy.

"He's made ice cream that never melts even on the hottest day of the summer!"

"He's made a blue bird's egg candy for you to suck on till it's smaller and then all that's left after it dissolves is a baby bird on your tongue!"

"He's made gum that never loses its flavor no matter how long you chew it!"

"With his gum, you could blow bubbles the size of your house that'll lift you up till someone has the decency to pop it and let you devour it so you can make another bubble hoping to lift you up to where the clouds are!"

"My Grandmum told me," the little boy said, "That a silly, silly prince of Indian asked him to make him a chocolate palace once," Sonny glazed by the counter in wonder as the boy went on. "This is before he didn't even give the Queen of England the time of the day, of course and -"

"Oh yeah," the young man interrupted, "Something or another Pondicherry, right? That man was the silliest of billies, he was!"

The little boy glared at the young man, but he took an external breath and went back to look at the enthralled Sonny.

"He was foolish, that prince. He had written a letter to Willy Wonka asking him to build him a ginormous palace! Not only that but one made of chocolate that was dark or light chocolate, with bricks that would be also chocolate with windows, walls, ceilings, furniture, bathrooms, rooms - all chocolate being held together by chocolate cement entirely! Even the pip-lines that connected to the many sinks and faucets in the palace would gush out hot chocolate.

"What made the foolish prince the foolish prince was, that he intended to not eat the palace but _live_ in it, ignoring Mr. Wonka's words that said it wouldn't last long.

"He got what he deserved for not heeding the words because a day where the sun was boiling came and - the prince and his princess had to grab onto each other frantically while they tried to escape the palace that was literally melting at their feet!"

The boy laughed along with the young man. Sonny, however, was too engrossed in the image her mind had already pictured out for her. To make an entire small model volcano of chocolate was thing - something one of her little male cousins did to frighten Veruca back then - but to make a life-sized, fit for a prince palace of the sweet stuff she worshipped as chocolate! It was doing the impossible, certainly, but she couldn't help but wonder what happened when the prince realized he had no home now.

When she asked just that, the young man scoffed, "He wrote an urgent letter asking Mr. Wonka to build him another one. I'm not too sure if he just refused or simply believed the prince didn't deserve it, but Mr. Wonka was too busy dealing with his own problems."

The little boy smacked his gum along the roof of his mouth, "About the same time that Pondicherry's palace came to its end, Mr. Wonka was having a demise of his own! At that time, smugglers disguised as workers or even worse - once loyal worker promised with greed by rivaling companies - disguised themselves as spies to try and sell his recipes!"

"They didn't just try," said the young man, "They did. That's why he closed up his factory, he said it would be closed forever after he saw that rivals like Slugworth was making ice cream that never melted if you placed on the pavement hot enough to boil an egg."

The little boy swallowed spit loudly, "Ew, who would buy candy from a bloke named _Slugworth_?" Sonny wrinkled her nose slightly, the name _did_ have the sort of ring that customers might be dissatisfied with; it sounded like a name a boy might give his pet slug or a slug-based disease or a greasy, wealthy git that spat on the poor.

"Exactly!" The young man agreed. "But there's something I don't really understand. He said he closed the factory forever, but you still see smoke coming out of the chimneys."

The boy popped a new piece of gum into his mouth. "My mum says that when adults say 'forever' they don't mean 'forever, forever' just for a very long time."

The young man rolled his eyes, "Not only that, but _who_ are the workers? Most important, _where _are the workers?"

Sonny always saw her Father's workers leaving the factory at odd hours in the evening, mostly at the same time. "Maybe Mr. Wonka makes it so that they have quarters indoors?"

"Really? Does your father do that with _his_ workers?" The boy asked with a tone dripping with sarcasm. The young man pinched his cheek:

"Don't be snarky," he scolded, "But Miss Salt does have a point. What would be the odds that that the factory is as big as it looks on the outside? He could have a million rooms for all he know, enough to maybe even fit all the people who live in the flats where I live."

The boy swatted the hand away, "But that isn't the case, obviously. You never see anyone come in or go out,"

"He could have hidden passages,"

"I find that likely but no," the little boy rolled his eyes, "Mr. Wonka never seemed he was in touch with the world despite making candy that the world treasures very much. Why would he make hidden passages just to venture out in a world where the people who called themselves loyal workers betrayed him?"

"They must be people working there," Sonny insisted. "Not _ordinary_ people but people, at least."

"People that can disappear and reappear at work from thin air," the little boy mused.

"People who just add to Mr. Wonka's brilliant mind," remarked the young man with a mock sigh of a school-girl in love that made Sonny smile. "But people used to work there, that's true. _Real _people if the people who work there now are not ordinary, that is."

Sonny ripped open her lollipop, popping it into her mouth watching intently while the young man went on. "Once Ficklegruber started making gum that never lost its flavor and that Mr. Prognose started making sugar balloons that you could blow into incredible but plagiarizing sizes, Mr. Wonka told his thousands of workers to go home and never come back, because of the factory closing down."

"Wasn't your grandpa one of the workers?" The little boy asked him with a nod as a reply.

"But then one day, when people saw smoke from the chimneys, they expected Mr. Wonka to welcome back his workers. He didn't. Nobody got their job back."

"Does he do all the work himself? Hasn't he got any help?"

"He must," reported the little boy. "Blake said that his father once saw weird shadows in the windows. It's weird, 'cos Mr. Wonka never comes out. Just the candy that's already packed and addressed."

"But Blake did say one thing," the young man concluded. "Whoever these workers are, they are teeny tiny. Maybe people no taller than my knee,"

"Nobody knows," the little boy added.

Sonny sucked on the lollipop, able to hear the paper sound the other lollipops were making in the pocket of her coat. She was heading back from the store, after the work she made pushing and shoving, as that conversation was over a week ago since the news came out. As she crossed a lane, she could still see the sign stapled to a wooden lamp pole:

_Dear people of the world,_

_I, Willy Wonka, have decided to allow five children to visit my factory this year. In addition, one of these children shall receive a special prize beyond anything you could ever imagine. Five Golden tickets have been hidden underneath the ordinary wrapping paper of five ordinary Wonka bars. The five candy bars may be anywhere, in any shop, in any street, in any town, in any country in the world. So watch out for the Golden Tickets! The five lucky finders of these Golden Tickets will be the ones who will be allowed to visit my factory. Good luck to you all, and happy hunting!_

_Willy Wonka_

_I have as much of chance of meeting Willy Wonka as I have a chance of getting Daddy to say I'm not fat. _She sucked on the candy harder. Passing the factory with smoke curling out of its towers, she couldn't help but think.

Being able to meet Willy Wonka would have been an even better prize beyond anything she could ever dream of, and yet there was a less likeness of her finding that Golden ticket…

. . .

**End Disclaimer: **And there you have it, the end of Prototype 1 Chapter One.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Now for Part 2 of Prototype 1! Aw yeah, I am completely in the zone, listening to Black Kids "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance" with the TV on simultaneously playing VH1. I am proud to say that I own Sonny Salt, so ©. I do not however own Willy Wonka or any other original characters, that belongs to Roald Dahl.

**BTW: **I'm really trying to stay with the original dialogue but while my brain says one thing my fingers do another so please, please excuse any chronology errors.

**Chapter Two**

When Sonny decided to grace the young man at the Sweet Haven candy store with her presence, it'd been quite early. Really early, actually, as in, say, 6 AM or so. Sonny's Mother only occasionally got up at about 7, if only to rummage through the mail and start with a morning latte mixed in with a little wine. Mother also insisted that girls like her and Veruca didn't _have_ to get up early; they were people who could do that for them

Sonny didn't regret her decision, though. For one thing, the little town that Sweet Haven in was far more peaceful during sunrise than good ol' Buckinghamshire; it was nice to see the physical darkness just dissolve away for a while so that light could come back and instead give a new day. As lovely as that sounded, that wasn't the only reason as to why she arrived so early.

The Golden Ticket Contest was another; everybody was scrambling. Even Veruca - _especially_ Veruca, if there was a special prize, she made it her business to see to it that no other person had it except her. Since the day the Contest was announced, home was becoming more and more chaotic, she heard Veruca pacing around her room, her parents chattering, and the hired help clucking their tongues. Every noise in the palatial abode had just _intensified_, like one enormous headache.

Which was why, at about 12 at night, she was lying in her warm bed, staring at the ceiling, fidgeting every few seconds. Something was unnerving her - perhaps the bed was too warm, perhaps the room was too cold, perhaps every noise in the house is as headachy as long nails on a chalkboard. All Sonny knew was that she wanted to see Sweet Haven. Do you know how when one gets interested in something, that they just cannot leave it alone, that that it is all on their minds? That was Sonny thought. _Sanctuary_ was the word ringing out in her head as she caught the next bus to Sweet Haven only hours later.

Now the trip to Sweet Haven felt like it'd only been for a quick second, and in a way, it had - the chaos of the Contest had people showing up only an hour after the young man decided to let Sonny in and watch _Good Morning London! _with him. Only over the world, people were grabbing at Wonka bars straight-away, as the reporters managed to get correspondence from other equally-hectic places such as Tokyo, Japan and New York, New York. The two of them just looked at the TV screen, Sonny in a chair and the young man standing by the counter, both speechless.

He'd gulped, "I can already feel a darkness rolling in, it's already happening; it won't be long before people start to scream, stumble, and fall."

"Odd, I never accepted the world to succumb to this type of demise, one based on chocolate. Honestly, I just always thought someone would, I don't know, press a button they weren't supposed to and suddenly, the world would end." _The button would probably be an inconveniently-placed red one, marked under a sign that says, SELF-DESTRUCT BUTTON, MUSN'T PRESS AT ALL COUNTS. _

"If it'd end that way, I think I'd just call my mum, tell her I love her, put the phone down and just relax at my desk. After all, havoc would be breaking loose, but why worry? I'd just unwind there quietly and hum 'Doctor Demento' to an excitingly apocalyptic tone, y'know?"

Sonny had smiled, she suppose that in comparison, she wouldn't take this apocalyptic way the world was acting in strife, in fact, maybe she, too, would just sit there quietly relaxing, possibly munch on a Wonka bar and just think, _I really ought to be panicking but then again, there will other places or worlds to live on; it's almost as if Lady Earth is on her monthly, just having an attack, is all. No need to break this calmative…_

"I'll tell you one thing, though," Sonny had opened her eyes to the young man's voice, still intently watching as cameramen on TV were ran down by people trying get to stores that sold candy, "The first one who finds that Golden Ticket is going to be a porker. Mark my words, they will be fat, fat, fat."

Now Sonny sat in front of her own TV set, this time in her bedroom, sitting Indian-style on her fluffy bed. Right now was a news bulletin from a sister news-team from Dusseldorf, Germany as a more than hefty (wimpy, wimpy, wimpy, wimpy) but rather overweight boy with a chocolate-covered face appeared on the screen, an enthusiastic-though-just-as-portly woman stood beside her son holding his fat wrist to flash the ticket to all the cameras.

Speaking of the ticket, a corner of it was bitten off.

_Well, done, my clairvoyant friend._

The boy's German accent was thick but he was speaking English. "I took a bite out of the chocolate. Or coconut. Or peanut butter. Or caramel. Or nougat. Or sprinkles. I look at it and I find the golden ticket!" He exclaimed.

The mother mentioned something of her child, Augustus Gloop Sonny thought that it was, that with him eating some much candy that it didn't seem unlikely for him _not_ to find the ticket as she flashed a smile towards her also-portly husband behind her and Augustus Gloop, as they appeared in a butcher shop while he seemed to be turning animal intestines.

"Augustus!" Asked a reporter. "How did you celebrate?"

"I eat more candy!" _How long has been holding that chocolatier bar?_

It was the middle of the evening now, which meant that perhaps her Father would be pulling another all-nighter; he had been at work since Veruca wanted a Golden Ticket. It'd been an odd yet predictable situation; odd because Veruca had been almost meticulous in waiting for her chance to ask (look up: demand) a Ticket. Predictable because as always, she'd told her Father that she wanted it right after school, same as she always does with everything she demanded. It became a daily routine, Father waiting in middle of the spacious sitting area expectantly, glancing at the window to see Veruca's limo pull up and watch her stomp her way up to him, her desire having been bottled up after a long day at school. Mother just rolled her eyes with a slightly nonchalant nod as she held an elegant glass between her fingers, something that Sonny didn't like as she'd nearly walked in on the conversation - if you could call it that. _Jeez, Mother, at least try and take a stand. _But she didn't, she remained seated at her miniature bar and ignored her husband's almost pleading glance for her to step in, instead leaving him to his work.

That is, if you could call work having all your workers - _female workers _- stop shelling nuts to open candy bars in search of a ticket that millions of other children in the world though they deserved, at least the nice ones did, at least - the ones who barely got any at all, much less a chocolate bar.

_Not a snob like Veru, that's for sure. _Sonny smiled broadly at the nickname as she turned down the TV volume.

She brushed a large chunk of her hair over her shoulder, leaning back into her expensive feathered pillows, not wanting to hear Veruca's demanding any longer. The search had been going on three days, and Sonny, for some reason, hadn't lost hope that Veruca might just end up getting what she wanted.

Her temples ached when she heard shouting, some of the lines muffled but what she could make out was, "I want the ticket! I _thm-thm-thm _won't go to school or _thm-thm-thm _or _thm-thm-thm _ever!" She fingered the hem of the D&G purse that laid fishtailed from her on the purple fluff of a bed, the tip of fingers rubbing circles onto the gems on the platinum prong that allowed the purse to open and close.

_For God's sake, why am I hesitating? I mean, it is my chocolate bar, I bought it with my own money and my parents know that I'm not obligated to just cater to the madness that is Veru's greediness. It's not as if she'll come stomping around at the sound of a wrapper being torn. _As far as Sonny was concerned, when he little sister was in a tantrum, she was in her own world when things would always turn out the way she wanted them to and the look-alikes she called Mother and Father were mindless lumps of mush that bent to their youngest child's will when she said "Jump" they would reply, "How high?"

_That's right_, Sonny encouraged her trembling as she pulled the bar out of her purse and started at the tot of the bar. It wasn't as if the ticket really mattered, because she would still have the candy, and that was enough to fill with sweet dreams. Her eyes ran across the words of the bar, WONKA'S WHIPPLE-SCRUMPTIOUS FUDGEMALLOW DELIGHT, it said on the wrapper.

So what if there were only three tickets left? It wasn't as if she would be lucky enough to find it, she was blessed with such a family that can afford the necessities most family can't, but to be lucky twice in a row - she shook the thought away, telling herself that the ticket didn't matter, how matter how many times her heart kept saying something else.

When Sonny couldn't bare the suspense any longer, with heavy intensity in her fingers, she torn the wrapper straight down…and look down at her lap when all she was the back of a crème-colored chocolate bar. No Golden Ticket anywhere.

She looked to glance at the TV, that repulsive boy who only turned to be nine-years-old was still on the screen, his two chins that jiggled making her uncomfortable.

She brought the bar up to her lips and sighed, taking a bite of it from the corner, _might as well make it last_, she ate slowly.

Licking her lips, relishing it was all she felt she could do to get that image of the porky one named Augustus Gloop, still smiling and stuffing his fast on screen as Sonny took a fearless bite. She felt a spurge of envy - not about the ticket, believe her, it was far from it.

He had bigger breasts than her, and that just didn't seem right, she told herself breaking the chocolate into bars and stuffing two into her mouth at the same time.

_It isn't fair_, she kept telling herself lowering her to glance at her chest. It just wasn't, she felt moisture at the corners of her eyes. She didn't deserve to cry about this, when there were millions of others who deserved a chest like that any day. She couldn't just sit in bed and feel sorry for herself, could she? She couldn't help but try to reassure herself - people earned what they deserved…didn't they?

. . .

Sonny woke up to an irksome ringing nose in the center of her ear, followed by sounds that sounded like someone was switching the lights in her room on and off rapidly, as she tossed her head from side to side on the suddenly lumpy pillow.

She looked around, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets, though they seemed far too beady to do so.

Her hair was sprawled all over her pillow, she stared at the diamond-speckled ceiling she had known for twenty-two years. She blinked, not daring to take a side glance she could tell that the next day had already started, but the light seemed to dim. She struggled to sit up, not really wanting to, she just turned her head and saw the midday sun hid behind some puffy clouds.

That light switching was still in her ear, though. And her window was closed so what - ?

She stopped moving, not letting the fluffy bed make a squeak as she listened intently with a frozen face. She heard people's voices. People telling Veruca to look over here. Telling her to look over there. Telling her to spell her name. Telling her to flash her prize (that sounded oh-so-wrong on many levels)…

Her green comforter thrown over her shoulders, she crawled out of bed and on her knees, crept the wide door open slowly. Flashing lights flashed around every corner of the spacious house, some occasional towards her eyes, causing her to turn head away, her eyes were sensitive. She hugged the comforter tighter around her shoulders, that feeling of envy returning as an smile was on Veruca's pink lips as she held up the Ticket nice and high to the cameras.

Her stomach churned miserably for a Wonka bar, but patting her stomach, she listened:

Sonny's Father was eagerly explaining himself and the Ticket to the reporters: "You see," he was saying. "As soon as my little girl told me that she simply _had_ to have a Golden Ticket, I went out and started buying up all the Wonka bars I could lay my hands on. _Thousands_ of them… _Hundreds_ of _thousands_! Then I had them loaded into trucks and sent to my own factory. I'm in the peanut business, you see, and I've got about a hundred women working for me over at my place, shelling peanuts for roasting and salting. That's what they do all day long, those women, they sit there shelling peanuts. So I say to them, 'Ok, girls. From now on you can stop shelling peanuts and start shelling the wrappers off these chocolate bars instead!' And they did. I had every worker in the place yanking the paper off those bars of chocolate full speed ahead from morning till night. But three days went by and still we had no luck. Oh, it was terrible! My little Veruca got more and more upset each day and every time I went home she would scream at me, '_Where's my Golden Ticket! I want my Golden Ticket!' _And she would lie for hours on the floor, kicking and yelling in the most disturbing way. Well, I just hated to see my little girl feeling unhappy like that, so I vowed I would keep up the search until I'd got her what she wanted. Then suddenly… today one of my women workers found one! So I rushed home and gave it to my darling Veruca and now she's all smiles; we have a happy home once again."

Somehow Sonny pictured differently from the explanation - she understand her little sister wanting the ticket, but the fact that one of the women workers found the ticket and then so willing gave to Mr. Salt didn't make much sense. No one in there right mind would do that, let alone the superior you happened to loath very much - oh, yes, the gossip in the peanut factory got around very quickly - no, he must have changed the story, Sonny half-expected that.

The part about the kicking and yelling was the truth. Veruca could be the girl from _The Exorcist _when she wanted something so badly that she wasn't getting it right away, saying words backwards and puking all over the house while making furniture levitate. That, Sonny could understand.

But she couldn't put her finger on it, what her Father had changed - _ah, yes, the fact that his youngest daughter's such a spoilt little toad and that _- Sonny's hand quickly went to her mouth even though she hadn't said anything, afraid she might.

She didn't want to think that way, not at least about Veruca, the little sister she used to love to watch in her crib during the few hours that her colick hadn't kicked in and she almost looked like a normal little baby. No, she held her breath as her stomach churned again in silence, her stomach could keep its opinions to itself, her gut was telling her.

Admittedly, her gut was right: what kind of children asked their parents for another pony after finally getting what they wanted in the first place? _What kind_, Sonny asked herself, _what?_

Crawling back towards her bed, she laid there as a lump on the bed. The fact that her sister of people won was just - _rotten_. _Bloody, bloody rotten! _She shouted in her head.

_She cheated!_ She thought nothing good ever came from spoiling your child, leading them to believe that they were special than most children - _yeah_, Sonny scoffed to herself, _special ed!_

She clutched her comforter tighter, digging her face into her pillow. If nothing good ever came from spoiling a child, then why had Veruca just gotten the opportunity of a lifetime and she didn't even have to eat a single candy bar, let alone even know what it tasted like…

. . .

**End Disclaimer: **Ohh, and the Prototype Saga continues!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Chappie 3!!!!!!!!!!!! Hooray! Ho-ray, all right! Anyway, I think this story might never finish because I've been trying to make shorter chapters and I'm still trying to work everything into a plot that will work and make sense. Wish me lucky!!!!!!!!

BTW: I don't own anyone but Sonny, I wish I did, though.

**Chapter Three**

Sonny was walking by the candy store, sighing to herself wishing she could be assistance but not wanting to make matters only worse, she left her need to want to do something alone and walked past the window of the store.

She could see people's faces and bodies pressed against the window unintentionally as everyone continued to shove, only to have someone shove them back.

Some people would occasionally look at her as they tried to take back their place at the front of the counter, they only eyed her lightless hues, other than that it was her fill-figured body that caught some eyes. Sonny, admittedly, was one of the better looking women of the Salt household even from all the way down in the Higginbotham family up in Albany.

Sonny looked at herself over, doing a double table. She had really been putting away those Wonka bars, but bimbling back and forth from Buckinghamshire to this small town _did_ have their advantages when you did every single thing on foot.

She sighed again, watching her breath puff up before her for a split second before taking a distant seat beside an older gentleman on an old wooden bench by an café. He was flipping through the funny pages of a newspaper, his large, black-rimmed owl-eyes glasses falling to his thin nose. Sonny tapped his shoulder.

He looked up at her words. "Excuse me, sir, but are you done with that?"

He smiled at this, the front teeth an interesting yellowish color as he nodded his head slightly, pushing his glasses back up to his nose. "Oh, of course, miss, help yourself. But it wouldn't be too much, may I take the section I was reading with me?"

Sonny smiled, shaking her head. "Not at all. It was your paper originally, so feel free to take back any section you'd like."

The older man smiled again at Sonny's manners, not at all recognizing her, not that she minded. When people did stop her on the street, they'd remark how much she looked like her younger sister, while rudely if not unintentionally gazing at her eyes. They couldn't help it, her eyes were a unique color as though it were the only color on earth that you couldn't help but wonder if Alison Salt wasn't nice as she looked.

Of course once you got used to her or you've been around her for a long period of time, you'd begin to forget about the eyes and focus more on her - as a person.

Moving along, the gentleman took the section he wanted and walked off after a casual wave, one to which Sonny just smiled broadly at, before eyeing the front page of the paper. TICKET FOUND IN ATLANTA, GEORGIA.

On the front page showed a young girl holding up the Golden ticket and right between her teeth, a piece of gum was visible. More cleared pictures showed her and presumably her mother posing and answering questions behind at least maybe three-hundred trophies. Sonny read the caption:

"'I'm a gum chewer, mostly, but when I heard about these ticket things, I laid off gum and switched to candy bars," said Violet Beauregarde. She explained that she was the Junior World Champion Gum Chewer. "'That this piece of gum I'm chewing right at this moment is one I've been working on for over _three months solid_. That's a record,'"

Sonny suddenly realized she had a new reason to hate gum-chewing especially when she read the following caption: "'It says here that one of the kids is gonna win that special prize. I don't care who those other four kids are, that kid is gonna be me,'" It disgusted her that Mrs. Beauregarde encouraged this. "'Because I'm a winner.'"

Beastly, boorish girl, Sonny thought while she read on. Not only did her attitude sound very godly in a complex way, but Sonny could only guess that that Violet girl saw everything as a challenge. But at least she had the right to get the ticket - Sonny took that back in a yes-and-no matter; the girl could have just wanted another challenge to belittle those around her, but regardless she actually ate the candy.

Sonny tried counting to ten in her head. She was still skittishly miffed that Veruca had found the Golden ticket and not even on her own. Mr. and Mrs. Salt knew nothing about the way Sonny seemed to be hemorrhaging in silence bottling up all her anger like that. They just simply believed it was that time of the month again. Not used to Sonny saying what was on her mind or complaining.

She jumped when she heard a local radio on a nearby parked car turn to a news bulletin. The fourth Golden ticket had been found in Denver, Colorado by a boy named Mike Teavee. And from the sounds and noises in the background, he was playing a very violent video game. Sonny also took the hint when he just randomly said, "Die, die, die!" in the middle of a question. Other than that, he was speaking about trailing manufacturing codes and cracking the system before he seemed to stop for a moment to answer another question:

"In the end I only had to buy one candy bar," concluded Mike Teavee, the little snarky intellectual.

"And how did it taste?" Asked a reporter.

"I don't know. I hate chocolate."

Sonny could only guess why on earth we would want to go to a factory where its main product was something he hated, perhaps it was a dominance situation at separating the boys from the men like Violet. Other than that, Sonny was out of ideas. She had to admit, the little punk did have a way with words, and he sounded like a prodigy no doubt. It didn't surprise that someone that sounded that smart didn't like something as fun as chocolate.

"What would be the point of going to a chocolate factory when you didn't even like it?" Sonny mused under her breath. She could guess that Mike Teavee was planning something, but then again with a mind like his, he could have been doing better than lollygagging unpleasantly around the factory.

He could have been doing much better things and yet he got the ticket.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Hurray it is Chappie 4!!!! No comment!

BTW: Only Sonny is mine, the rest - I shall not repeat myself! Sorry for Mary-Sue haters!!!!!!

**Chapter Four**

The young man at the counter of the candy shop on Cherry street slumped backwards, a reconciled lazy smile on his lips as he sighed heavily and stared up at the white ceiling.

Sonny had already felt her heart sink when she saw the news that morning about the last ticket being found in Russia, so she and her parents once again shared a quiet breakfast. Whilst Veruca donned on about what she thought she might get as a prize when she got the factory.

Sonny had snorted internally. As if she thinks she's going to the prize, she picked at her pancakes.

Still, she couldn't help but feel about more relaxed as she took a sip from her Styrofoam cup that held On-the-go café au lait, her arms quivering in her thin expensive Dilliard's crème-colored windbreaker. At least today it won't be as busy or crowded, she tried to cheer herself up.

She quickly sunk about a corner in her mind just as quickly as she tried to smile. She was finally able to big a chocolate bar, and now that chocolate bar would staring at her dead the face, mocking her. When she had told the young clerk at the counter, he waved his hand.

"Miss Salt, technically all of the chocolate bars in the world are laughing at the other children who didn't find the ticket,"

He made it as though it were the simplest thing, it wasn't, Sonny couldn't deny. She cared more than a lorry load about this, and she hated herself more and more for thinking that people like her younger sister or Mike Teavee didn't deserve it.

She had told herself countless times that people earn what they deserved, Sonny had only thought that good people get what God intends for them to have, and that the bad people - the ones who have god complexes, who cheat, steal, and lie - only got what was coming for them from the start from Hell.

Now she didn't know what to believe.

Sonny sighed, sipping her café au lait with a forced chuckle as she pointed towards her usual. "Just one, please. I'm not in the mood for any more Wonka candies for today,"

The young man agreed, sonny got the feeling he didn't see the true meaning behind her words of nonchalant. "I know all I want to do is, crawl back into bed and forget about this whole thing. The sooner, the better," he handed Sonny two lollipops.

She smiled graciously before popping one into her mouth when she saw a pair of men in chiffon coats pass by with two dogs on leashes, she twirled the cubic pop between her teeth, her ears wiggling. She must have missed most of the conversation, most of it just sounded like muffles. "The nerve. Forging a ticket,"

As if on the little boy came in right on time, holding a half-eaten bagel and smacking gum on his lips. "Some people will do just anything to win," he said aloud as he stood on his toes and glared out angrily into space.

The young man and I waited, so the boy sighed and went on. "The ticket. The one found in Russia, it was a fake. The ticket still out there," he whispered the last part out. "I might as well get what I want before this place is cramped again," he slapped a crippled dollar on the counter and after taking what he wanted he left as quickly as he had arrived.

The young man scratched his stringy hair from his droopy eyes, groaning, "Miss Salt, you'd be go - this might get ugly. And I don't want to ruin any of your clothes,"

Sonny wanted to stay, but the man insisted. "Trust me, if you don't ring them up fast enough, they will grab and claw." He demonstrated with his own hands, arching his fingers to give out a feline-like attitude. He was making the goofiest face tinted with some pink. He touched her arm before someone nearly elbowed their way into her pair of pearly-whites, if it hadn't been for her ducking out of the way.

People coming from the trains were piling in fast, Sonny had no choice but turn back around towards home. Veruca was already flashing the ticket whenever she could in her sister's face, who put on the bravest face yet to seem so mature, but Veruca knew the truth. She always did.

"Sonny, Sonny - would you like to read it with me?" She gestured towards the ticket again wholeheartedly, relishing the sound of her sister swallowing sadness along with enormous amounts of nervous saliva. Sonny didn't want to make herself sad, that'd just feed Veruca's vitality.

She didn't want to refuse, though. That'd be planning right in the hands of her evil little sister, and Sonny realized she was too easy a bait so she gave in, shoulders straight, Veruca started to read whether or not her sister had given an answer:

"_Congratulations, lucky finder of the Golden Ticket from Mr. Willy Wonka, I shake you warmly by the hand for now I do invite you to come to my factory for one whole day. I, Willy Wonka, shall escort you around the factory myself showing you everything there is to see. Afterwards, when it is time to leave, you will be escorted out of the factory followed by a procession of large trucks each one filled with all the candy you could ever eat. And remember one of you lucky five children shall receive an extra prize beyond your wildest imaginations. Now here are your instructions; on the first of February be at the factory gates at 10am sharp. You are allowed to bring one member of your family to look after you. Till then, Willy Wonka."_

Veruca just looked up and smiled brightly, a smile that meant it was lunch time. Veruca, despite being more or less cute in her plait-dress and blue ribbons in her light brown hair, she was the devil's daughter.

Sonny could say she knew and didn't know why Veruca didn't like her some much - for the purpose of sibling rivalry and with the fact that the parents prefer Sonny over the youngest Salt child any day.

Not only that, Veruca wanted to show her sister what a privileged life was all about, possibly thinking that it will leave her crawling towards the younger daughter.

The devious little - Sonny looked with a slight flush when she saw her Father coming to greet his daughters. Mr. Salt was an intelligent man, he graduated at the top of his class at Yale University, but the man had no backbone. Sonny swore she loved the man to death but the way his personality lacked fortitude, she saw where she got it from, it must have been rubbing off on her.

"Good afternoon, Alison," he bent forward to peck her twice on the cheek to which Sonny smiled for his sake and greeted back, "Hello Daddy," and he did the same with Veruca to which she greeted him back as well.

He wasn't lying, Sonny recalled in the interview where her Father said that Veruca was now all smiles again, the little brute.

Sonny averted her eyes when her Father turned to chat with Veruca for a moment, and she was sure that she felt the bile of her anger mixing with blood along with her saliva. It must have been a sign for her to take some action, come on, Sonny - take some action! Speak up!

She'd feel like an agony aunt regular if she did do something, she didn't even complain that she didn't get anything for Boxing Day after Christmas, how could she expect herself to actually speak up about something so trivial - that was the point, she kept telling herself, because candy - chocolate isn't trivial, she has to speak up on the behalf of Mr. Wonka. She had to ignoring her stomach churns, puff out her chest, and -

"Oh really, then? Alison, Veruca said she read the ticket with you,"

Her Father's voice interrupted her thoughts as Sonny did nothing but nod weakly, holding down the miserable internal churns of her stomach, as she felt metallic blood slithering down her throat, determined not to throw up.

Her eyes flickered to the five foot girl (one of Sonny's traits she disliked was that her sister was very close to being her height) who was smiling cutely in attempt to hide a smirk of victory. Sonny unexpectedly wanted to eat some of Wonka's cherry-flavored Couverture biscuits. She didn't want to see Veruca win at a game that Sonny had no chance at.

Her Father was truly a kind person, she didn't know where he got the personification of a snotty person like his youngest daughter, because he touched the top of Sonny's head and smiled, "Alison, darling, would you like accompanying Veruca on the trip?"

Veruca very nearly dropped her ticket, and the smile was replaced with a curl on her upper lip in a surly fashion. Sonny shook a quiver down her spine as Veruca's blue eyes darted quickly from her Father to her sister, as Mr. salt bent down and kissed his oldest daughter's hair while his youngest fumed in silence.

It wasn't part of Veruca's plan, and by part of the plan, she meant her older sister. Veruca's relationship with Sonny was one to be questioned, but it seemed that ever since Veruca realized she couldn't bend her sister to her will as easily as she could with her classmates at the prestigious private she went to, like the way she could with her parents, like the way she could with her au pair and maids, it just irked her the first moment Sonny realized her little sister something.

Veruca stayed focused on the conversation when her sister said, "Daddy, I don't think that…" the fact that Sonny was soon learning her place in the household was making Veruca's heart start to rise, but her sister's dark eyes met with her own blue eyes and Sonny turned back to her Father:

"But I'd love to go if isn't too much trouble,"

Wait. That wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't part of her plan. Veruca kept shouting in her mind, keeping herself from stomping her feet, she wasn't going to give into her sister so easily. Veruca swore to herself that that would be Sonny. She swore it.

Mr. Salt merely smiled. He had regretted not getting Sonny something for Boxing Day, she hadn't asked for anything and he didn't want to disapprove her wishes. He still felt she deserved some token of gratitude, afterall she never complained or fussed, and she was at the top of her class this year. Sonny deserved that ticket, a part of his brain was telling him, the fact that she actually ate Wonka candy only added to the point.

"Oh, poppet, it isn't. I didn't want to rearrange a meeting of mine, so I'm sure you'll be a fine escort for Veruca." He lifted Sonny's chin up slightly. Her dark eyes were twinkling, a first he had seen them glimmer in a while, the only way he used to see that was when she was a child, idolizing that Wonka fellow.

Mr. Salt felt good about what he was doing.

Veruca, on the other hand,…

Her tongue was in knot, an ultimate first for her because she hadn't gotten what she wanted, and for the first time, she was speechless. Her wrench of a sister had gotten what she had wanted and she didn't even have to ask, let alone demand like the way she did. Her Father could just _tell_.

When Mr. Salt left the two sisters, he passed by one of the maids and whispered to her, "Gladys, would you mind keeping an eye on Veruca? Make sure she doesn't do anything harmful towards Alison," he didn't want to admit he didn't trust his youngest daughter because of her size, what damage could she do? What damage could she even possibly do to her plumpy sister? He regretted leaving them alone now.

Surprisingly, Veruca was keeping her cool, which honestly, had been lost many moons ago. "You better not ruin the for me, Alison! You won't or I'll tell Daddy," her pale face was a slight pink before she stomped out in a posh manner, towards the curving pale staircase. She heard the door slam.

Sonny didn't like seeing her sister angry. Not in that devoted sister-to-sister type of way, it just made her stomach unhappy and when it did, she felt she couldn't hold down anything. Just barely a small corner of a Wonka bar. But she tried as she sat in her room.

She had the telly turned to a muted episode of _EastEnders, _the Wonka bar on her night-side as she sat on her fluffy pillows, chewing slowly. She didn't think her heart could take it. She was going. She was going. And she didn't even have to win a ticket.

When she fell backwards, tuffs of white bounced around her. "This is so wicked!" She squealed.

Not only that, she bit with her lower lip with glee. She could just bet that Veruca was breaking things in her room, thinking that her sister practically nicked something for her. When Sonny had once thought it was the other way around. She was savoring each moment of zest to her younger sister's wobbly.

She grabbed her duck-shaped afghan to her chest. She couldn't wait as her lashes battered at the thought of wonderment at the dreams of going to the factory - wait, she bolted upright, she'd be going tomorrow! Tomorrow was the first of February!

She found Mrs. Salt seated at her bar in the lower part of the house in dim light, clicking her long nails along the polished counter. She was half way through a cup of bitters, sitting at the wrought-iron stool, leafing through a Past Times catalogue. She doesn't even look up when Sonny walked through the French doors.

"All I'm saying is that they should set a good example," Mrs. Salt was speaking with the female barkeep. She was looking good, Sonny thought as she strode forward. New hair color - pale brown with just a few hints of gray looking distinguished on her and a very nice polo-neck jumper. Too cold for one, Sonny thought that perhaps she'll borrow that.

Her crisply dark eyes met with an exact match. "Hi, Mum," Sonny said. "Hi, Adele," she smiled towards the barkeep.

Mrs. Salt, despite being nonchalant about almost everything that Veruca wants, instantaneously brightens at the sight of her daughter. "Sonny, don't you think that is just the finest, darling?" She pointed to a page of Past times, full of 1930s reproduction jewelry and trinket boxes. "Marvelous cardigan," she added in _sotto voce_. "Look at that embroidery." She pointed to a long, purple coatlike garment in colorful Art Deco swirls - Sonny made a note to save that page and get it for her Mother's birthday - if she didn't buy it herself next week, that is.

She waves her hand, "Adele, put the pint away. You can go on break,"

When Mrs. Salt was still a Higginbotham, she lived in a similar big house as a child where a cleaning lady came every day. Where a nanny came during the weekdays to help with her siblings. And they had that wonderful woman live with them. Her name was Adele. Sonny had known Adele as long as she known her Mother. Adele came from the Philippines; she'd been Mrs. Salt's father's housekeeper when he went away on business and had looked after Mrs. Salt since she was a baby. When the Higginbotham parents divorced, whereas Mrs. Salt had spent her school holidays traveling with her father, she had spent most of waking minutes with Adele alone. In reality, parents like Mr. Higginbotham didn't become tycoons by reading his children bedtime stories every night. And Miss Kelly (her maiden name), Mrs. Salt's mother, was not a hands-on parent either, too busy jetting around Europe as a newly divorced wealthy woman. And the nannies she hired never lasted very long, as Mrs. Salt made it a knack for making their lives a hell. Only God knew why Adele had stayed, and the two of their minds worked together, because Adele was responsible for her upbringing. Well, not strictly true, because that was the Higginbotham-Kelly parents. Adele did the legwork, as she kept Mrs. Salt's hair plaited, her teeth cleaned, she kept her dressed, fed, and watered - all by Adele. The only constant in Mrs. Salt's life were Adele, Miss Kelly's absence, her father's wealth, and vodka.

Miss Kelly and Sonny did not get on. Her open criticism of her daughter had left Sonny gaping in the past and rubbed off on Veruca with that bad genes, first starting off by telling her Grandmum Kelly that her Chanel outfit looked shoddy, and Miss Kelly countered her insult. What Adele thought about Miss Kelly was beyond her, but she was positive that Adele probably thought that Mrs. Salt's heart was in the semi-right place. After university, Adele came to join Mrs. Salt in England permanently. She'd been here ever since. Sonny was sure that Adele was retired now, though she never sat down, she couldn't. Needless to say, with Adele, the money, the one of the two good daughters, and the vodka, there was never any mess in Mrs. Salt's life. In fact, there was barely any evidence of life sometimes.

Adele looked at Sonny solemnly in indebtedness. She had taken most of the care of Sonny, leaving Mrs. Salt to try and become an hands-on parents when Veruca was born. With and without reason, Adele favored Sonny over Veruca easily. She nodded her head and left the two Salts.

"Right," Sonny rushed over the counter with a swish of her skirt. "I'll put the kettle on." Flicking the kettle, her eyes caught the price tag still on the prong handle and without thought, picked up the kettle and ripped the tag off. She gasped, not only from the fact of what would have happened, but from what she saw.

She let her eyes linger towards the numbers written on the tag, still in shock. She should have been used to this by now, but she just couldn't get over it. Six point five million pounds. That's how much her Mother paid for a bloody tea-pot. Six and a half million.

She felt stunned and slightly angry. "Mum, are you serious? What about C. B.?"

Cutting Back was something Sonny established with her Father, in order to save money, she'd buy no more than the necessities. Obviously it was thrived before Veruca's conceiving, and when Veruca was old enough to want something, she didn't like the rule. She then insisted it only appealed to Sonny, to which she happily obliged. It was either Cutting Back or M. M. M - Make More Money.

Her Mother gave a modest look, bringing her elegant glass to her lips as a distraction. Sonny barely spent anything like £6. 5 million in a month; she spent about…twenty quid in a month. Or was it ten? She already felt poorly inadequate.

Mrs. Salt brightly pointed to a freebie advert about gorgeous white duvet covers at £200 each. "Oh, look, Sonny, they're crisp-colored. Your favorite. And you can buy a matching cast-iron bed and painted wooden shutters, and a fluffy white dressing gown…"

Sonny blew on her hands, "Mother, please," she said.

She listened happily, leaning her chin on her folded hands, to which Sonny said, "Elbows off the counter, Mum," as her Mother replied with a playful wink.

"So, how goes the world without finance?"

Mother was terrible, she thought at her Mother's misguided but in the right-place-teasing. Not that, but who end the world paid for a tea kettle for £6. 5 million? And who would charge someone for that much? Even worse, Sonny had to remember to scold her about that ceramic storage jar and new gold cafetière she'd never seen before.

Mother was terrible, always buying new things for her home - mainly her bars - and she just gives the old things to charity shops like Oxfam when they were still perfectly good. New kettles, new toasters…She already had three new rubbish bins this year - chrome, dark blue, and now translucent green plastic. What a waste of money.

"I heard some of the maids saying that there is going to be a mano a mano going on soon," Mrs. Salt was very caught in the world of cleaning lady gossip. Ignoring Sonny's flushes, she looked at her as though for the first time. "That's a nice skirt. What is it?"

"DKNY," Sonny mumbled, adjusting the stove by the bottles of liquor.

"How much?" She asked.

"Maybe fifty quid,"

Sonny had been shopping from the local stores again. She had gotten this from a Last-Chance bin at Marks & Spencer, and the fact that she was a member saved her fifty percent off. Mother didn't need to know that, though.

She didn't question her Mother how much that polo cost. She learnt that her Mother worked in two systems simultaneously - real prices and Sonny prices. Sort of like when everything in a shop is 20 percent off, and you walk around mentally reducing everything. Mrs. Salt, though, operated a sliding-scale system, a bit like income tax. It would start off at 20 percent - if it really cost £20, then she'd say it was £16 - moving along, it rises up to…well, to 90 percent if necessary. Mrs. Salt once bought a pair of red wedges for Sonny that cost £300, she told her that they were £30 and they were on sale.

She poured her Mother a cup of tea. "Mum, I want to look decent for…tomorrow, and I need you help," she didn't know if her Mother even -

"Ah, yes, our gardener mentioned something about you and Veruca going to that factory." Nothing even got past Mrs. Salt. "Sonny, you are the most decent person I know. I'm sure you'll come up with something to wear, unless you'd like to accompany to Bailey Avery's,"

Bailey Avery's was a prestigious, prosperous Shopping Department Store when all the gentlefolk went. It was where Mrs. Salt ordered her drinks from. Sonny hated Bailey Avery's - it was too stuffy and everyone was rotten eggs, all snotty while the boys flirted with her and the girls asked her to join them in a game of croquet in their Daddy's yard. Oh how she loathed that place.

"Thank you but no thank you," Sonny took her own cup, "I was hoping to borrow something of yours."

Mrs. Salt had the best style. Everything she bought was expensive and purely made, Sonny wished she had her Mother's sense of style. And while her Mother's snobbish modesty annoyed her from times at an end, she put up with her.

"Dear," Mother leaned forward, "Borrow whatever you like, I want you to want yourself to look your best." She pressed her lips softly to her daughter's forehead. "I know you wanted more than anything to go the factory. And your prayers have been answered, people like you get what they deserve. I want you to look nice and have as much fun as you can at that factory, okay? You deserve it, Alison."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Sorry, but recently I've had too much to say, you know, waiting for Watchmen to come out on DVD and all. Still, Sorry that things are going terribly slow, but with my new M. S. C. (Make Shorter Chapters) thing all - oh, yeah, M. M. M. and C. B. - I got that from the first Shopaholic novel something that Becky's father says. As for age ranges, Sonny is twenty-one and Mr. Amazing-Hot-Chocolatier, I'm making him at least thirty-three. I know, right, cute and old? Talk about Kougar! He's a OHMILF (Old Man I'd Likely F***)

BTW: Sonny is all I own, Adele, too, and for the back stories such as Mrs. Salt, I made that up. Sorry for the Mary-Sue-ness!!

**Chapter Five**

Sonny hadn't been sure what to select from her Mother's walk-in closet. She wanted something nice, but not something that was too long at the legs or made her look older than she appeared - she took the last one back, she wanted to seem sophisticated, as though she was a philosopher, though the young kind everybody liked. She didn't like being taken for granted because of her incriminating height.

Sonny took a sip from her tea. She had been up since dawn, preparing everything as she examined her final choice of clothes. She had taken at least six pairs of different clothes and jumbled them up in hopes of getting something that would look good.

She didn't know why she was acting like this, it wasn't as though it were - a date or anything.

Brushing a long chunk of hair over her shoulder, she had gotten something that seemed sensible enough. She had rummaged through the bag of clothes her Mother was planning to deliver to Oxfam, she didn't like the thought of taking from the less fortunate, but she spotted something she liked.

It was far too big for her, stopping right above her knees, it was a nice gray with a few lighter shades of gray with long sleeves, the sweater complimented finely as a dress to her figure. Speaking of which, she examined herself in her full-length mirror, her lips seemed more curved than ever.

Her fears of the sweater fitting snug were released when she slid into it without ease, she looked at herself again. She looked -

"Alison! Hurry up! I want to go NOW!"

She very nearly smashed her head into the mirror. That little girl is such a fright, she thought straightening out the hem of her sleeves. The heel of her foot collided with her other ankle when Veruca screeched louder than before, thankfully today seemed to be her day, because aside from the more than snippy little sister, some pillows were on the floor and that cushioned her fall.

"I'm coming, Veruca!"

Hopping on one foot, she tried to guide herself from bumping into any of the precious valuable glass trinkets she had in her room, desperately pulling one leg through the swirl-colored pantyhose, she could have practically broken her neck by her work dress if the floor hadn't broken her arse's fall.

"A-_li_-s_on_n!"

She pulled a pair of Fadley Lace-up, black wedge boots on each foot. Trying to lace up her left boot while she ran a brush through her hair, not cooperating as much as she wanted it to. Forgetting about her laces, she pulled some chunks of her hair back and tied them back with a ribbon, almost giving herself a heart attack to her demise when Veruca's screech was louder than the last.

Her fingers curled along her long hair, grooming it in the back to make it appear curly, she puffed up her lips to spread some pink gloss over her lips that guaranteed to make her winter-broken lips much softer. Yes she cared. She was very nearly but not quite pushed all of her products that promised to beautify any surface off her white mahogany dresser in pursuit.

"Alison!"

Ah hah, she pulled her star necklace over her neck, letting it glisten in the light while she tried her laces the fastest she could, hastily before she grabbed her AK Anne Klein houndstooth harlequin black and red wrap coat, fumbling with the buttons as she hurried down the stairs.

Veruca had a look of angered avidity on her posh face, ready to screech again when her sister exhaled heavily from her run right beside her. "Finally," complained Veruca, "If we're late and don't get in, it'll be your fault! And I won't ever speak to you again! And I won't -"

"Do you want to go or not, Veruca?"

The question annoyed the younger sister to the fullest, her cheeks slightly pink as she walked ahead of her sister, her large ringlets bouncing while Sonny dwindled behind fixing her beret on her head, touching her hair a few times.

Veruca turned to glare at her for a moment on the way outside. "Why are you touching your hair like that? It isn't a date, you twit!"

"Uh-huh…," At this point Sonny would let Veruca call her anything she wanted, but a slight pink appeared on her face. The little brat was right, Sonny told herself firmly, it was not a date! It was the big day, a day that Sonny should have been focusing on for _Veruca_'s sake! Not her own.

Leaning on the window of the limousine, her stomach in silence churned, just as jittery as she was feeling. She had been dreaming about this long before Mr. Salt had let Sonny go as an adult with Veruca, but she never imagined what it'd be like. She looked over to her side, wondering what was on Veruca's mind.

She shook her head, not wanting to even begin to try and picture all the words and pictures her younger sister was making to show her displeasure that Sonny was coming along with her.

Due to the certain content, Sonny has asked me not to describe the list of profanity and slang running through the youngest Salt child's mind, but do know that she intended to have Sonny carry the prize she intended to win as punishment for butting in.

The streets were jammed with reporters, bystanders, and overall onlookers hoping to catch a gander at the extraordinary Willy Wonka and the ticket winners. It was the factory that people were really wondering about, though, mostly. When the limousine pulled up by the curb, reporters were shoving things down the Salt daughters' mouths (that did not sound right) while everyone, even the other ticket winners, stopped to stare.

Before Veruca even had a chance to hold up her ticket to the policemen that controlled the crowd, they airily let her and Sonny through.

After saying a brief goodbye by the chauffeur at the limousine, Veruca and Sonny stood beside a weak-looking young boy and an older gentlemen who presumably must have been his grandparent. She didn't know he won the last ticket.

Veruca took one glimpse at them and held her nose up high, shoving Sonny hardly in the arm to follow her example. Sonny just rolled her eyes.

Augustus Gloop stood beside his mother chomping down on a bar of candy (gasp!) while his mother wiped the residues from the side of her son's mouth, it was quite repulsive that I'm not even sure why I described it.

Violet Beauregarde and her mother stood together in matching coats as Sonny was close enough to hear Mrs. Beauregarde say to her daughter, "Eyes on the prize, Violet, eyes on the prize."

Mike Teavee stood in a sullenly bored manner muttering words of boorish taste about what he thought about the factory's exterior to his father. Mike Teavee was also looking around as well, his greenish eyes met with Sonny's dark for a split second and she could have sworn she saw some color on that boy's cheeks. She shrugged internally to herself.

The boy with his grandparent, she didn't catch their names, were murmuring to each other both pleasantly excited to be here. She happened to overhear the boy ask his grandparent if he thought Mr. Wonka would remember him, leading her to believe that he must have worked here at some point. That sounded pleasant and fun, she was about to ask the grandparent if he did used to work at the factory when Veruca tugged on the hem of her coat.

She looked back at her sister who exclaimed to her, "Alison, I want to go in!" Then mentioning something about how it getting cold.

Sonny swiftly pulled out her mobile phone from the pocket of her coat and looked at the colored numbers on the screen, "It's 9:59, Veruca,"

"Make time go faster!" came a rude demand from her younger sister.

The gates in a sudden opened and everyone looked up when a voice from a speaker coming out of God knows where (that's what she said) said: "Please Enter!"

Nobody hesitated despite the intensity of the suspense, everyone rushed forward - except for August Gloop and his mother, who seemed to be shuffling as fast as a portly person came.

The iron doors pulled open to reveal a large red curtain that pulled apart to show a large variety of puppets who began to sing an obnoxiously vain song:

"_Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka_

_The amazing chocolatier_

_Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka_

_Everybody give a cheer_

_He's modest, clever, and so smart, _

_He barely can restrain it_

_There's so much generosity_

_There is nowhere to contain it…to contain it_

_To contain, to contain, to contain!"_

Sonny looked at the other ticket winners, as Augustus Gloop and his mother were the only ones who seemed to be enjoying the song. Sonny's eyes met for a moment the little boy who had come with his grandparent and the two briefly exchanged a look of worry.

"_Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka_

_He's the one that you're about to meet_

_Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka,_

_He's the genius who just can't be beat_

_The magician and the chocolate wiz_

_He's the best darn guy who ever lived…_

_Willy Wonka, here he iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis!"_

When an empty red throne lifted up from the ground appeared, that's when the things started to turn into a devilish theme of what you'd see in a horror film, as the puppets caught fire from fireworks. Sonny shuddered, she'd have to remember to tell her Father to call her any of nickname than 'poppet' ever again. It all started to go around and around slowly as though horror music was cue to play, the voices going lower and lower from the malfunction

As if on cue the sound of single clapping and cheering could be heard as everyone turned their attention to a strange man who suddenly appeared standing beside Sonny with a wide smile on his face. Sonny even flinched a little as she stifled a giggle from the man's upbeat attitude towards what just weirded everyone else out.

"Wasn't that just magnificent?" The strange man kept clapping enthusiastically. "I was worried it was getting a little dodgy in the middle part but that finale…Wow!" He had a wind chime laugh, Sonny noted as everyone just stared as he walked onto the stage.

A pair of dark, purple-framing large bug-eyed goggles covered of his eyes as he still wore a happy whilst awkward smile on his fast, exhaling. He was tall, inside a large dark coat as Sonny looked at his pale complexion, as though he was just recovering not being near warmth in a long time or lack of sunlight. His chin-length, auburn hair hung over his cheeks and ears. There was a hat on top of his head, making appear a foot taller than he actually was and in one hand he held a cane that seemed to full over candy - teeny little specks of it - with a swirly black and white ball on the top where his hand held it. If Sonny's stomach was churning as though it sensed something back - and mind you, she was the type of girl who literally listened to her gut - the weirdo was kind of… fit with a dishy way to himself.

He was practically making an adorable fool out of himself when he hesitated and said, "Good morning Starshine, the earth says hello!" From the look on the parents and the children's faces, this was getting odder and odder as Sonny realized she had heard those exact lines in one of her favorite musicals - _Hair_!

Sonny glanced over to the others, and noticed that the little boy with his grandparent didn't at all looked…well, weirded out, obviously. Instead he had a marveled look of fascination on his face, along with the older gentlemen next to him. Who was he? Sonny kept whacking her brain, trying to recall a name or a date, until she came the conclusion that this little boy must have won the ticket no less than maybe a day ago. The reporters would have tracked him down by then.

"Who are you?" Violet Beauregarde smacked her gum in a condescending tone.

Sonny was close enough to almost glare at the girl, but had a nostalgic recollection as the man's breathing seemed to smell of vanilla, peanuts and an alluring, yet familiar scent of chocolate mint. Her thoughts were smacked away when the older gentleman said in a slow voice:

"He's Willy Wonka,"

Mr. Wonka smiled nervously again at the utter silence indecorously while everyone, Sonny included, just watched incredulously while for Sonny and the unknown little boy and the grandparent, it was just because of wondrous marvel at the strangely endearing man.

He started to shuffle nervously into the pocket of his inside coat, pulling out a small package of flashcards after another second of silence passed and nobody said anything.

"Dear guests, greetings!" He emitted out a good-natured, but nervous laugh. "Welcome to the factory! I shake you warmly by the hand." He must have realized his mistake of reading what he was actually supposed to be doing right at that moment, and he was about to outstretch his hand, though judging from the strange looks he was receiving, he decided against it. Only clenching and unclenching his hand letting out a slight squeaking with another nervous smile. "My name is Willy Wonka,"

"Then shouldn't you be up there?" Sonny must remember to bonk her on the head for interrupting him like that, already giving him a hand time as she pointed at the partially burned, velvet throne in the background.

Mr. Wonka, eccentrically in an obvious fashion, replied by saying, "Well, I couldn't very well watch the show from up there, now could I, little girl?"

Sonny hoped her little sister didn't offend, the last thing on her mind at the moment. When the older gentleman spoke up again, trying to form the words:

"Mr. Wonka, I don't know if you remember me, but I used to work here in the factory."

"Were you one of those despicable spies who everyday tried to steal my life's work and sell it to those parasitic, copy-cat, candy-making cads?"

The man looked mildly shocked, "No, sir."

Mr. Wonka smiled. "Then wonderful, welcome back. Let's get a move on, shall we?" He started walking, motioning for everyone to follow.

Dodging a flaming puppet eyeball that rolled in front of her left foot, Sonny tried to keep up with Veruca when she looked up when Augustus Gloop spoke up:

"Don't you want to know our names?" he was moving up the steps rather slowly beside his mother. Sonny nearly jumped out of her boots when the wall closing, shutting the outside world behind them.

"Can't imagine how it wouldn't matter," came the reply. Sonny felt her face go pink in offence, but she could see why he didn't seem to truth anyone anymore, because to exchange personal information among little children who most likely to babble didn't seem so smart. But Sonny kept shouting in her head that she wanted to know him, he wanted him to know _her_! That that was all she had ever dreamt about, telling herself not get carried away, she didn't want to seem like a nuisance. "Come quickly, far too much to see."

Everyone emerged into a hallway, all gray color with bright red accents here and there as she saw that further down the hall was a door. Lines of light came from the windows far above, mirrors that reflected them to each desk lining the hall and formed light circles above them. The heat everything was giving off was hard to ignore, as it felt comforting to be in a place just as warm as home when she wouldn't have to worry about taking off her coat and not keep warm. Then again, she _did_ have extra warmth with the sweater. She noticed the little boy again and felt bad, as she pulled off her beret.

"Just drop your coats anywhere,"

Mr. Wonka pulled off his own coat, as Sonny noted that under it was a, deep purplish-red velvety blazer over a black suit. She didn't have to squint to notice that when a glimmer of light beamed towards Mr. Wonka's way, a _W_ was richly and complexly enclosed to the collar of his shirt.

Sonny wasn't surprised she liked it, she had always had a liking towards shiny or finely made things.

She wasn't surprised that he wasn't not that creative, as her lightless saw a maroon strip that encircled the hat atop on his head that matched the pattern the coat he was wearing.

Veruca tossed her coat on top of Sonny's about to say something to her when she distractedly saw the eye color of Mr. Wonka's eyes after he threw his goggles onto his coat. The hues along with the texture looked like soft, dark translucent violet quartz. She felt a spurt of envy.

"Mr. Wonka," Mr. Teavee said as he removed his coat. "It sure is toasty in here."

"What?" Mr. Wonka's eyes glimmered moving back and forth from each parent and child before stopping on Mr. Teavee, Sonny noticed as she folded her scarf neatly and placed on top of her coat. She also saw that deep within his violets, she saw many emotions that she couldn't comprehend, even ones that she didn't fully know even existed. "Oh yeah, I have to keep it warm in here. My workers are used to an extremely hot environment. They just can't stand the cold."

"Workers?"

Sonny blurted it out the exact same time the little boy did, and their eyes for a moment, causing them to flush with embarrassment. They both seemed confused, and for good reason, too. Sonny wondered if she had really gotten her story straight, she knew it didn't seem possible to have workers still after he closed down the factory and kicked out the workers as a fact. Her eyes floated towards the older gentleman, that man was proof, she thought to herself.

Maybe, she thought, he could have secretly left the factory without anyone's knowing and found people to replace the ones he fired…?

Her thoughts shattered when Mr. Wonka's eyes hovered from the little boy to her, to which she averted her eyes instantly. Mr. Wonka couldn't help but wonder about her, she differed from all the other ticket finders, she and that little boy. But he was only focusing on her for a second, as he was trying to comprehend the curvaceous dark-haired girl, not only that - but look how dark her eyes are, he remarked to himself, it looked as though she was completely hollow! He still felt her presence, though, doing a mental double-take.

"All in good time…" He answered, moving his eyes back to the little boy to Sonny again.

Mr. Wonka started to walk away, expecting the guests to follow when he stopped in his tracks as Violet Beauregarde glommed onto him, hugging him the side. He flinched, with a look of distrust - or was it disgust, perhaps? - crossed over his face as he looked down at the blond girl that smacked her gum furiously.

Sonny felt her upper lip about to curl when she caught Veruca's eye watching her encouraging her to just set herself up to embarrass herself and give into her demands, but she took a deep internal breath and just looked. She felt her sink slightly but rise again when she realized that perhaps after not being in human contact with anybody else, one could grow the habit of being a solemnly lone, non-touchy person.

"Mr. Wonka, I'm Violet Beauregarde."

But wait, she stopped herself in her mind, how could that be because if he has workers then the workers must be human…unless you have Sonny's imagination, she pictured the extremely small monkey-or-troll thing she had seen last time. And she felt a shudder in her throats, how disgusting, she thought to herself.

"Oh…," Mr. Wonka's face looked wickedly funny in one way as he was still tense from such contact, but he was freaked out, no doubt. "I don't care." He took another glance at the girl in a baby blue tracksuit who smacked her gum again with an enthusiastic smile before walking forward again.

Sonny held down a giggle from Mr. Wonka's words, as Violet Beauregarde was persistent, walking right beside Mr. Wonka. "Well you should care. Because I'm the girl who's going to win the special prize at the end." Replied Violet matter-of-factly in a gloat.

"Well, you do sound confident, and confidence is key." Came Mr. Wonka's reply, still slightly rigid in the shoulders as Violet looked back at her mother, slowing down her pace to smile widely at her, who in return, gives her a pointed look to encourage her. Sonny rolled her eyes.

Her giggle died quickly when she missed Veruca vanishing from her side, readying to set her off just for fun but also to prove a point towards that gum-chewing girl. He flinched slightly again when Veruca stepped in front of his way again, giving a curtsey.

"I'm Veruca Salt, it's very nice to meet you, sir." Sonny knew that voice. That was Veruca's I-don't-like-you-because-you-obviously-better-than-me-at-something-but-I'm-going-to-smile-and-pretend-to seem-thrilled-to-meet-you-while-I-plan-your-downfall voice.

"I always thought a verruca was a type of wart you get on the bottom of your foot," came the reply in childish excitement, letting out another one of his giggles. He seemed to like the fact that Veruca's smile fell as Augustus Gloop stepped in front, taking another bite of his chocolate bar as he spoke, once again preventing the man from starting the tour.

"I'm Augustus Gloop, I love your chocolate," he says, taking another bite of the large Wonka bar in his hand.

"I can see that." Mr. Wonka eyed the boy's shape with an slightly exaggerated look, not that the boy would have noticed. Mr. Wonka's mind flickered back towards the girl who had asked about the workers, and he was about to compare their figures in his mind before shaking off the thought.

"So do I. I never expected to have so much in calm." He finished in a placating tone.

Thinking he was annoyed the interruptions, instead he kept his face still in bother before turning around and looking towards the Teavees direction. "You. You're Mike Teavee, you're the little devil who cracked the system." His eyes seemed to flash intensely for a split second as Mike Teavee gave him a dirty look in return, huffing in silence as Sonny tried to hide her smile. The way he said that was interesting enough, but the little devil was just a boy, a cute one at that - there seemed like no reason to be calling names, she though.

He turned to the little boy, "And you, well you're just lucky to be here, aren't you?" Sonny couldn't help but think that was rude, he had a name, if Mr. Wonka could just ask.

Mr. Wonka looked away, going on. "And the rest of you must be their…" he trailed off, struggling with the last word as Mr. Teavee raised an eyebrow, he - along with the other parents - finding his behavior already strange, they were starting to wonder if he was autistic savant with such an ability to create candy everyone in the world loved.

He looked as if he was resisting gagging, so Sonny suggested a word, "Parents?"

She didn't like to see him uncomfortable, as she came to the conclusion that when you were uncomfortable, your creativity didn't flow correctly - that was why she liked him, his creativity was the main reason she hadn't given up drawing. He was what fascinated her.

"Yeah, moms and dads." A frown started to form on his lips as he started to space out, talking to himself. "Dad…Papa..?"

Sonny bit her lip, wondering whether or not she should do something considering, because she was the one that said the word, but he snapped back into the real world, starting again nervously.

He took another look at Sonny, "You're a bit too young to be anyone's mother?" He asked the last part hastily.

"Oh, I'm Veruca's older sister." Sonny very nearly almost embarrassed herself by lifting up her hand for Mr. Wonka to kiss, having being taught to be polite when with gentlefolk, but she quickly lowered her hand before anyone else saw.

He just stared at her, letting out a nervous laugh and turning around. "He he, let's get a move, shall we?" He started to walk down the hall along calmly, his cane sounding through the air with a thud at every short movement.

Sonny stayed close beside Veruca, biting her lower lip, she didn't want him to think she was like Veruca - that last sentence just sounded sickening, being compared to her bigot of a sister. But she couldn't help but think how dishy he was, just another reason to like him, she thought with a smile internally.

While she kept an eye on Veruca, she caught an eye of something that she didn't like. That fat one, Gloop, he looked like he was offering some of his Wonka's bar to the nameless little boy and it appeared that because he said yes, that Gloop took another bite of the chocolate, talking while he chewed. "Then you should have brought some,"

Sonny grumbled under her breath, watching as Violet and Veruca glared at each other and plastered a smile, "Let's be friends," Violet smacked her gum while Veruca spoke. "Best friends," they interlocked arms and then looked away with an look of infidelity on their faces. Sonny wondered if she should have stopped an accident before it happened, but her thoughts were jumbled when she met with the eyes of Mike Teavee and that pink returned to his face.

She liked children - or kids, whichever everyone preferred to be called - but these kind, Veruca included and the little boy excluded, were just the worst. They seemed so rude, she considered to herself before she noticed her surroundings again and saw as Mr. Teavee nearly his head on the ceiling.

The hallway had gradually got smaller and now up closer, she hadn't realize the door was an optical illusion considering how teeny the door was. Everyone was practically on the floor or crouching down to keep themselves from hitting the ceiling, all except for Sonny, for once feeling thankful for her small size, she almost stopped breathing when she saw how close she was to Mr. Wonka, who was bent down so his hat didn't touch the ceiling. She tried not to acknowledge her flush.

Mr. Wonka gave off his excited aura, "This is very important room," he said. "This _is_ a chocolate factory afterall."

"Then why is the door so small?" Mike asked as though the chocolatier were an idiot. Mike really had to think before he spoke, because his cuteness won't save him from stopping Sonny from punching him. She sighed to herself, why is always the cute ones? She wondered before her eyes hovered to Mr. Wonka. Not always, she watched as he responded with a cheerful laugh:

"That's to keep all the great big chocolaty flavor inside." He pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket and slipped a key into the keyhole designed like the factory doors, turning it. He paused for effect at the clicking sound before outstretching an arm and pushing gently at the wall, revealing to be the entire door.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Thank my first review! I HEART U, too! Seriously, I love all of U2's songs!

BTW: I only own Sonny, the rest belongs to Dahl and Tim Burton! I wished I owned Johnny Depp, he's hot with a capital HAA!

**Chapter Six**

"Now do be careful, my dear children."

The aroma that left its essence all around the room brought back that memory to Sonny's mind, she was positive that what she was crawling around in was not muck but in fact some kind of spicy chocolate. Everything was breathtakingly, hair-raisingly, amazing. Everything was a garden variety of sweets - as though it were someone's backyard. She wished it was hers, but she didn't wish too hard. It was as though the entire room just took your troubles in the outside away, luring you in as it knew you'd wouldn't starve with it around. She just wanted to throw herself against the grass and just lay there, never wanting to leave. There was a soothing sound from what appeared to a chocolate waterfall steeping into a large channel that was pure, melty chocolate, barely touching the grassy fields.

Sonny followed Veruca who quickening her pace, listening as Mr. Wonka spoke, looking around as though for the first time, eyeing the chocolate river. "Don't lose your heads."

Augustus had the same look upon everyone's face, though he was greatly exaggerated, probably plotting to hide in the fields so that when everybody left, everything would all be his. Sonny had to keep an eye on him, she didn't want him eating her little sister. That wouldn't be a good idea, he'd just get diarrhea. Sonny tried to stifle a laugh, she could tell Mr. Wonka must have heard so she averted her gaze just in case.

"Don't get overexcited, just keep very calm."

She glanced at bright red fruits of some sort hanging on the vine-like leaves of a strangely colored drooping willow, hanging over the chocolate river.

"It's beautiful," she and the boy flushed again, trying to repress a laugh. Déjà vu, they thought to themselves.

Mr. Wonka responded at their unison, "What?" He didn't sound shocked, more like in a daze. He only eyed Sonny this time before turning back around. "Oh yeah, it's very beautiful."

Going on, he leads everyone onto a land bridge over the river. "Every drop of this river is hot, melted chocolate of the finest quality." Everybody paused to stare at the waterfall closely. "The waterfall is most important. It churns the chocolate, makes it light, and frothy." He waved his hands around a demonstration, as Sonny recalled a friend of hers at her university who did the exact same thing, he was studying to be a psychologist and often helped her with her homework by explaining everything with his hands.

"By the way, no other factory in the world mixes its chocolate by waterfall, my dear children. And you can take that to the bank." Clearly by that last sentence he was joking, but he didn't trust, and sonny could see why for good reason. But her heart was now realizing that he didn't trust her, either.

He motioned everyone in front of him, moving in a line. "People," everybody turned around at their mentioning. Mr. Wonka pointed to a few large pipes that was fluttering high up by the spacious ceiling. "Those pipe suck up the chocolate. And carry it away, all over the factory." He used his hands again self-satisfied at his explanation to let the guests envision what, where, and why the pipes carried the chocolate all over the factory. "Thousands of gallons an hour. Yeah."

He gestured away towards the path we weren't walking on. "Do you like my meadow? Try some of my grass." Everybody stared down at what they hadn't stepped on. "Please have a blade, please do. It's so delectable and so darn good-looking." They just stared at him. Sonny rolled her eyes, bending down for a second she took a single blade. It tasted just like the ivy leaves she was covered.

"It's delicious!" She turned her gaze up towards Mr. Wonka.

"You can eat the grass?" Asked the little boy. She couldn't be angry at him for asking the obvious, he was simply too cute with his big ears and eyes full of delight.

Mr. Wonka's eyes moved from Sonny to turn and answer the little boy's question. "'Course you can. Everything in this room is eatable, even I'm eatable, but that is called cannibalism, my dear children, and is, in fact, frowned upon in most societies." He smiled before moving his hands out. "Enjoy." He started to shoo everyone off, they didn't hesitate, trying to keep up with their children while also stuffing their faces.

Sonny took another parting glance at Mr. Wonka before following Veruca., who was busy deciding a variety of oversized lollipops. Sonny just waved her hand, walking away towards what appeared to look like candy canes coming out of the ground. Now, any normal stupid would most definitely just lick here and there, but Sonny wasn't your average stupid person - but, mind you, she was stupid at times.

In fact, she was simply examining them, walking all around them, till she found one about the height of her.

She took a deep breath, wrapping her hands firmly around it, she started to pull it out little by little. "Hey, I'm actually doing it," she said so to herself, chuffed that her recent intake of sweets have improved her strength and energy.

When the candy cane was successfully out of the ground, she started to look by her feet, searching along what must have been actual balls of candy. She plucked the smallest one, unbeknownst that Mr. Wonka was watching with her a raised brow. What was that little girl _doing_? He wondered if she was trying to break his factory, perhaps thinking that the reason her eyes are so dark - they were pits of nothingness, just evil. Squinting to see better, he saw her place the ball of candy on the grass, adjusting it slightly.

Sonny loved sports, especially the ones her Father had signed her up for at some of his country clubs. She undoubtedly had the talent it took to make it to the finals, but only played when she had the time. Recently with all the mania of finding the Golden ticket, she knew that some of her younger gentlefolk acquaintances wouldn't be there to play her, so she had stopped going for the moment.

But now, she thought with a smile, she had time. And after this tour ended - she hoped it never did - she just had to catch up on her croquet. Taking a firm grasp at the tot of the straight edge of the candy cane, she positioned herself with a straight spine, she licked her bottom lip.

And now just for a moment of silence and -

"Hello!"

Saying Sonny flinched would be understatement, because of the random greeting from Mr. Wonka, who happened to just randomly appear beside her once again, she must have hit the candy cane forward by accident because the candy ball was sent falling. Mike Teavee was kicking candy pumpkins in when the candy ball sonny hit smacked into a tree willowing above him and some apples were sent falling down, most of which hit his head.

She flushed. Oops, she didn't mean to as was she trying to devise an excuse to give the great chocolatier was in fact watching her intently, as she was inside her own little world, not at all noticing his staring. She must have heard his breathing because she almost flinched again, flushing as she averted her eyes.

"I, uh…How do you do?" She tried politely.

"Do you like the candy cane?" He gestured towards what was still her hands.

"What?" she wanted to let go by her hands were so sticky. "Oh, um…yes, I do." Was she supposed to lick the cane to prove that she wasn't lying? Obviously not because from her figure, he could tell she liked his chocolate.

Mr. Wonka walked over towards the bush where Sonny had gotten her ball of candy. He smiled in delight, "Watch this!" Taking a single ball, he pulled the bottom of it and steadily but quickly pink and red petals opened, sending a few flutters of orange bubble floating around.

Sonny smiled with a laugh when a bubble was closer, she gingerly lifted a single finger up and the bubble sat there. Using her entire hand now, she bounced the bubble lightly on her hand for a second, turning to Mr. Wonka. "Incredible!" When the bubble hovered in the air after bouncing one last time, standing on her tiptoes, it landed on the tip of her tongue, popping. She tasted what reminded her orange soda.

"This place is outstanding!" She let out another laugh, Mr. Wonka watching her again without her knowing. She couldn't be a rotten egg, he was thinking to himself, her laugh doesn't make her seem like. But he was convinced she was the type of person didn't laugh very often.

She placed the candy can on the side and pulled another candy ball. "How many times can each ball give off bubbles?"

"Oh yeah, do you play croquet?" The question took Sonny by surprise, leaving her taken aback with all the color completely fading from her face. She didn't know how to answer - well, obviously, she did - but what if he thought that was a snobbish sport? She couldn't bear the thought of it so she swallowed silently before nodding.

"Yes, I do,"

He laughed one of his childish laughs, handing her candy ball she must have dropped in surprise. ""Cause you're really good." She did what he did with the ball, watching the bubble come out with her dark eyes glimmering. Touching the bubbles gently with the tip of her fingers, she smiled wider.

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you here with that little girl and her pa…pa…" Sonny didn't know why she found his struggle on the fun as she let out another laugh, catching a bubble in her mouth, very unladylike, she noted to herself.

"Oh, Veruca, you mean. To be honest, our father had suggested it, even against Veruca's wishes. I guess he must know just how much I love your candy…," she muttered the last statement to herself but he heard, questioning it with a his head titled slightly. A slight pink appeared on her pale face, catching another bubble. "Your candies have always been so…fascinating. They're just so creative and they make everybody smile, trapping them a wonderland everything that's, well, perfect. I want to become an artist and sometimes when I don't have ideas - which is all the time - I wonder how you come up with all of this. All this wonder and brilliancy. I want to be able to make a painting that onlookers can preoccupy themselves in as though they had been living there and for the first time were admiring its beauty…" She stopped herself with all the blood rushing to her face, not meaning to bang on and on like that.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka, I didn't mean to go on banging on like this. Besides I'm just glad to be here, your factory is just marvelous!" Still making bubble appear out of the candy balls, she laughed when a bubble popped on her face lightly, as she started to walk right past him.

When he spoke up again, she turned back again too eagerly. "Call me Willy; Mr. Wonka is too…yuck." They both beamed at each other.

"I don't think your name is yuck. In fact, I do believe it's quite catchy," those words just came out absentmindedly and a flush crossed over her pale face again. She hadn't meant to say that, but she _did_ think it, in fact, she _did _mean - Willy Wonka _did_ sound dishy when someone was introducing you.

About to reply a voice called out to Sonny, "Look over there! What is it! It's a little person!" Veruca was licking an over-sized lollipops when she was something or someone strange - it didn't seem that surprising in this factory, though.

Mr. Wonka and Sonny turned their attention to what she was pointing, a little person indeed seemed to be working on a jackhammer. Mr. Wonka smiled to himself as though he was enjoying a secret joke. Little by little, Sonny noticed that there was more than there appeared to be, as confirmed the other guests who had also taken noticed.

Sonny went to stand beside Veruca.

"What are there?" Mrs. Beauregarde asked. "There's another one!"

"There's more than one!" Said Mr. Teavee.

"Where do they come from?" Wondered Mrs. Gloop.

"Are they real people?" Mike must have decided that they weren't. What an adorably, bloody-minded child.

"Of course they're real people. They're Oompa Loompas." Mr. Wonka stood in front of the group, Sonny was trying to keep an eye on Veruca but she couldn't get over the fact that Mrs. Beauregarde was standing so close to Mr. Wonka, who was nothing but perhaps in oblivion of it. Sonny hoped from one foot to the other, trying to stand straight without needing to fidget. She didn't know why she was worrying herself, because from what happened with her daughter, Mr. Wonka must have already labeled the Beauregarde family.

"Oompa Loompas?" Sonny mused aloud.

"Imported, direct from Loompaland."

Sonny felt as though she had heard or at least seen that name before, as she had to remind herself to look at her Father's globe when she got home. But focusing on the tiny people called Oompa Loompas, she remembered the small monkey-or-troll like thing covered in muck. It had looked about the same size as an Oompa Loompa, just barely at her knee.

"There's no such place," came Mr. Teavee's voice.

Turning his head slightly with a calm expression, Mr. Wonka replied back: "What?"

"Mr. Wonka, I teach high school geography and I'm here to tell you -"

He cut him off calmly. "Then you'll know all about it and what a terrible country it is." Telling the story about how he went to Loompaland in search of new exotic flavors to use for candy, he had found the Oompa Loompas, bringing them back after promising to pay them in cocoa bean, the very thing they lusted after and the very thing chocolate is made out of. He mentioned something about green caterpillars and Sonny curled her upper lip making a slight face, as though she was being served one right then and there and just staring at it in disgust. Mr. Wonka just smiled, "They are such wonderful workers. I feel I must warn you, though, they are rather mischievous. Always making jokes," he ended his story with a giggle when a shout was heard:

"Augustus, my son, that is not a good thing you do!" Looking past Mrs. Gloop's gaze, everyone turned to see Augustus avariciously scooping handfuls from the chocolate river into his mouth, already covered in it.

Sonny stayed beside Veruca watching Mr. Wonka yell towards Augustus, still scooping chocolate into his mouth. "Hey little boy!" He was holding up a hand to prove a point. "My chocolate must be untouched by human hands."

All the yelling must have Augustus to lose his concentration and focus (the chocolate), causing him to lose his balance and fall head-fast into the chocolate reservoir, earning a gasp out of Sonny and Mrs. Gloop, standing beside Mr. Wonka who just looks away with his eyes rolled, slightly annoyed but remaining calm, somehow not surprised that that didn't happen.

"He'll drown!" Mrs. Gloop was shouting to Mr. Wonka desperately. "He can't swim! Save him!"

Sonny stared at the man beside her, trying not to swallow back disgust. He wasn't doing anything, he could have at least tried to make the effort to save the fat on, but he stayed calm quietly. Impatiently, she stared to push Veruca behind her, she didn't want Veruca to get a blood-rush from it. Sonny has only been a pool a few times, but most of the times she stayed safely on her sun-bathing chair with a good book. But she didn't want to watch a child die at the hands of what she loved most. At least she'd die with a good reason.

About to leap forward, Mr. Wonka's cane abruptly stopped her in her tracks, blocking the way. For some reason, she didn't know why she didn't want to touch the cane, she just didn't. Her eyes gave a pleading look when she saw Augustus resurface while struggling for a breath, an expectedly strong grip wrapped around her elbow to keep Sonny from moving any further than she wanted to go. She felt heat emitting from his gloved hand as she watched his eyes move towards the pipe that hovering towards the river.

Sonny's eyes flickered when she realized Mr. Wonka's plan, watching Mrs. Gloop shout louder when a whirlpool formed from the pipe starting to suck up the chocolate. I don't how he thought Augustus would be safe, staring at the fat one spun around and around, screaming with each spin. Was this a punishment for being so greedy? Sonny didn't know what to think. He was supposed everything better, wasn't he? He wasn't supposed to make the world appear even harsher than it already was, was he?

Her heart started to beat again when she saw Augustus gasping for air when he got sucked into the pipe and started to push forward, stopping halfway through as some of the mortar of the pipe started to pipe from all the pressure.

"There he goes," Violet didn't sound as if she cared.

"Call the fire brigade!" Shouted Mrs. Gloop, still panicking.

"It's a wonder how that pipe is big enough," remarked an amazed Mrs. Beauregarde.

"I don't think it is," Sonny started to say. "Won't the pressure just build up and he'll shoot up again? I would think he might have broken a rib by now or so, from being forced into such a tight space." She matched the worry look on Mrs. Gloop face.

"It's not big enough," said the little boy. "He's slowing down!"

"He's gonna stick," Mike concluded.

"Look! The Oompa Loompas!" The little boy turned his gaze towards where a strange humming was coming from, as the little workers were still at work but moving rhythmically along with their equipment.

"What are they doing?"

"Why, I do believe they are going to treat us to a little song," Mr. Wonka smiled slightly. "It is quite a special occasion of course. They haven't had a fresh audience in many a moon." How could he care about singing when a boy probably had a bone broken in a pipe filled with chocolate? And all he had to focus on was, the catchy humming about to turn into singing:

"_Augustus Gloop, Augustus Gloop_

_The great big greedy Nincompoop_

_Augustus Gloop, so big and vile, _

_so greedy foul and infantile _

_Come on, we cry, the time is ripe _

_to send him shooting up the pipe _

_But don't, dear children be alarmed, _

_Augustus Gloop will not be harmed, _

_Augustus Gloop will not be harmed."_

How out of tune with the world must Mr. Wonka be to nodding his along to the music not to notice that a child in his factory was in perhaps what others would consider mortal danger? Realizing he was still holding onto my elbow, he dropped his hand away as the Oompa Loompas started to dance before diving into the river, starting to sing while swimming.

"_Although of course we must admit, _

_he will be altered quite a bit…"_

Sonny wondered about that line. Will Augustus be skinny after being forced through such a tight space? Moreover, will he even make it out alive to rejoice about his skinniness?

"_Slowly wheels go round and round,_

_and cogs begin to grind and pound_

_This greedy brute, this louse's ear,_

_is loved by people everywhere,_

_for who could hate or bear a grudge_

_against a luscious bit of fudge?"_

Fudge? What about fudge? Mr. Wonka wasn't a cannibal, he had practically said so himself at the beginning of the tour, surely he doesn't make actual fudge. Of course he doesn't mean fake fudge, either. Augustus expectedly shot up again from the pressure that built up doing the song, and vanished into the large base when the chocolate seemed to be stored before hovering.

Sonny looked to see Mr. Wonka standing beside her with a grin, clapping his gloved hands still holding his cane. "Bravo! Well done!" He exclaimed to nobody in particular considering that as the song had started to come to a close, the Oompa Loompas started to dispatcher. "Wasn't that just wonderful? Weren't they just delight?" He looked around the back of the people still worried, staying up at the ceiling as the pipe had already vanished.

She had to admit it was a nice tune and she could feel that it would be stuck in her head for a moment, but Veruca said to her, "It looked rehearsed," causing Sonny to roll her eyes, bending her head towards her sister whispering furiously, "Oh, yeah, it was all rehearsed. That there just happened to be a fat kid in the group, that they're just happened to the chance that he'll drink the river, that he'd be most likely taste the consequences of not obeying rules. Oh, yes, Veruca, it was rehearsed, wasn't it?"

Sonny leaned back away, ignoring her sister's death glare.

"How'd they know what was gonna happen?" Mike asked with his eyes still on the ceiling.

"Oh, poppycock," Mr. Wonka started to walk away when Mrs. Gloop quickly followed, almost starting him bombarding him with worried questions:

"Where is my son? Where does that pipe go to?"

"That pipe just so happens to lead directly to the room where I happen to make the most delicious kind of strawberry-flavored, chocolate-coated fudge." Mr. Wonka smiled slightly.

Mrs. Gloop had a slight stutter of panic in her voice. "Then he will be made into strawberry-flavored, chocolate-coated fudge. They'll be selling him by the pound all over the world!"

Mr. Wonka shook his head to the side slightly, considering her words. "No. I wouldn't allow it," Sonny was relieved he was taking some action now but of course her hopes died as quickly as they had appeared. "The taste would terrible. Could you imagine Augustus-flavored, chocolate-coated Gloop? Ew, no one would buy it."

He had a point, just the way he said, it sounded terrible. He turned away and make a strange noise with his mouth, an Oompa Loompa appearing at it.

Everybody bent forward watching as he spoke the tiny person. "I want you to take Mrs. Gloop to the Fudge room, 'kay? Help her find her son," he moved his cane up and down in a imitation. "Take a long stick and start poking around in the chocolate mixing barrels. 'Kay?" He crossed his arms over his chest when the little man did first, watching as the little man took a firm grasp of Mrs. Gloop's dress at the bottom and started to tug her along to follow him.

She hoped the fat one would be all right, as even I had to agree with her. Nobody that fat deserved to die in such a pleasant way, because death wasn't supposed to be pleasant, of course. Don't let my mopey attitude change the upbeat of the story, though. Moving along, Mr. Wonka answered Charlie's question about why Augustus's name was already in the song:

"Inprovisation is a parlor trick; anyone can do it." He turned to Violet. "You, little girl, say something - anything."

She didn't thinking too hard about her answer. "Chewing gum."

"_Chewing gum is really gross, chewing gum I hate the most_. See? The same," replied Mr. Wonka.

"No it isn't," Mike said rudely.

"Uh, you really shouldn't mumble. Because I can't understand a word you're saying." He was using his hand again to prove a point before lifting his cane saying, "On with the tour," leading everyone to follow.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Oh Easter bunny! Your laser eyes murdered by beer jar's spouse! And now there's oil, beer, and blood on my spaceship - uh-oh! And one day I'll rise up against you with an army of toddlers and seek revenge! Oh Easter bunny, oh Easter bunny, oh Easter bunny…..!!!!!!!!

BTW: I'm not going to repeat myself. Sonny is all I've got. If some of you noticed I borrowed some lines that might be yours, please, please, please don't be angry. If this story make sit big and get money, I split it with you and give my share to Oxfam.

**Chapter Seven**

Following along behind Mr. Wonka, everyone came to a stop when that strange humming was heard again, but to a different lyric less tune, along with a drumming. Their eyes widened at the sight of a ginormous, barbaric-styled vessel in the shape of a seahorse in hot pink making its way towards the riverbank where the people waited. Moving swiftly through in a slow fashion, with metal oars that reminded Sonny of gigantic spoons, cutting through in almost-silence. They were humming to the beta of the drum, dressed in blue looking straight ahead before coming to a stop.

Sonny let out a laugh when the Oompa Loompas expectedly start to laugh in unison after stopping.

"What's so funny?" Violet asked. She was standing beside Veruca, so Sonny had to keep an eye on the two of them to make sure that nobody else fell into the chocolate.

"I suppose it is because they're riding through what they love the most, besides the fact that they're literally swimming through their pay," Sonny shrugged at her more or less sarcastic guess. She didn't mean to sound so snarky, simply trying to be of help.

Willy Wonka leaned forward slightly, his arms folded neatly in front of him, "I think it's from all those dog-gone cocoa beans," he was considering Sonny's words and giggled to himself. Now thinking more about Sonny's muse, it did make sense. "Hey, by the way, did you guys know that chocolate contains a property that triggers the release of endorphins? Gives one the feeling…"

Sonny grabbed the little boy's hand when he almost tripped into the chocolate, or worse, could have slammed right into the boat. He flushed slightly as she told him to be more careful. Mr. Wonka's eyes lingered over her a split second when they realized that they were staring at each other.

"…Of being in love." They both looked away, a flush already forming on their pale complexions. He couldn't possibly think that. She couldn't possibly think that. It had only been barely an hour. Things like that…she asked me not the word, didn't happen so quickly…did they?

Inconspicuously Sonny dropped the candy ball she hand in her hand, wanting to make sure that the feelings bubbling inside of her weren't from the said endorphins.

"You don't say," Mrs. Beauregarde's suggestively said. Surely that woman was a married woman, wasn't she? Sonny didn't like the look of discomfort at the tone at the chocolatier's nervous gaze at nothing ahead of him, just wanting to forget what that woman had suggested.

Smile having been lost, there was a unsteady start in her voice as Mrs. Beauregarde battered her lashes. "A-All abroad," He swallowed in silence, looking to see Sonny was smiling diminutively. Without doubt could the girl have been enjoying seeing him so tense, did she? For some reason he thought that if she enjoyed sadomasochistic things, he felt he wouldn't mind. What are you saying, Willy! He mentally smacked himself, regretting taking a bubble from that candy bar when Sonny wasn't looking. Stupid endorphins.

Sonny regretted smiling so lightly. She didn't want him to think she enjoyed seeing him so uncomfortable, but she was glad that from the discomfort Mrs. Beauregarde had given him, that he didn't feel the same way with those one-sided feelings. Someone else pinning for his fondness would put her so-called feelings to the test, she concluded.

She sighed to herself, disliking that last statement. She really wanted to be happy but she was starting to believe that she wanted _him_ to be the happy one, afterall, from all the childlike emotions behind his hues laid something beyond her - something that was cloudy with unhappiness, the same shadow she recognized from the factory that day she saw it again.

She turned back to Veruca letting her go ahead of her, muttering to herself, "After you, Madame,"

Veruca just turned back to her and curtseyed in response, a smile plastered on her face. "How kind of you to put me before you, sir." She sat down.

"Oh, it's only fair, afterall. As the saying goes, ladies first -" Sonny stopped when a gloved hand is held out in front of her. Her eyes meeting with violet ones. He didn't understand it - he knew this girl had the ability to be as snobby as her wart of a sister, and yet she was endearingly was not. He didn't know how to comprehend her, but she was brilliant, like a light that always shined through somehow and someway.

She took the hand, giving her a leverage as she smiled fully, a faint pink running along her cheeks. "Thank you." She took her seat beside Veruca, smoothing out her dress while she sat down before Mr. Wonka stepped back to allow Mrs. Beauregarde to slide in next to her. A fairly warm feeling embedded itself inside of her chest, and she didn't know what to think of it, not wanting it go away, she decided to at least hold onto for the time being.

Mr. Wonka took a seat beside the little boy and his grandparent. He waved his hand, "Onwards!" The humming came again as they lurched forward slowly. He was starting to wish he had directed Sonny to sit beside him, but now realizing that the bench only had space for some few, he left it be. She was sitting two benches on him, and he could still faintly smell her aroma of cinnamon and something else - he couldn't put his finger on it, but it gave off its own individual charm, not mixing with the other colognes and perfumes that lingered ont eh boat brought by the other pa - pa - pa - that word, he told himself.

He handed the little boy beside him a ladle of chocolate, remarking on how skinny and starved to death he looked. "That's because it's mixed by waterfall," he spoke louder, letting everyone turn to look at him. Sonny cocked a brow at his words. "The waterfall is most important. It mixes the chocolate, churns it up, and makes it light and frothy." His hands moved as he says this, his actions ghosting those of earlier. "By the way, no other factory in the world-"

Sonny brought her hand up to her mouth, trying to hide her smile. Had he actually forgotten about the sentence that showed his pride for his waterfall or did he simply not want to leave an empty answer that was messing some words?

"You already said that," Veruca interrupted.

He stopped mid-sentence, his hand still in the air preceding to pull his hand down, squeaking his latex gloves in awkwardness nervously. He must have said the first thing that popped into his head. Come on, Willy, say something! His mind had shouted. The results were:

"You're all quite short, aren't you?" Sonny rolled her eyes playfully with a smile at his words and the affront looks on the looks of the children. Mr. Wonka saw her smile and snorted, "You're short, too. I think you might the shortest of everyone."

She stuck her tongue out at him jocosely, her Father would have scolded for that unladylike glimmer in her eyes. "I accept my shortness. And secondly, I am _not _short - I'm petite." She added the last part to get a light of Mr. Wonka - she did but it sounded deeper than most of his frivolous laughs and giggles.

Veruca glared at her older sister with a stony expression. Her sister's presence had been an utter disaster, all she was doing was, flirting with the chocolatier. She didn't want him to give her the prize. She wanted the prize. Veruca wanted the prize. Not Sonny. In spite of the possibility that if Sonny kept up the dalliance then Mr. Wonka might be so grateful that he would just give her little sister in the prize in graciousness for bringing the two of them together, she didn't like the fact that Sonny had once again gotten what she wanted and didn't even have to ask. Sonny had never shown such an interest in Wonka candy back in Buckinghamshire, in fact, she did was, study and draw. She didn't have time for candy. And she was eating Wonka bars and candies whenever she could.

Veruca continued to glower at her sister without her knowing. She'd better not ruin this for her. The line of blood was a thin one as Veruca didn't seem like the type to hold back on killing their sister right here and there.

Sonny's communicable grin switched back and forth from Mr. Wonka, from the little boy and his grandparent, and the back to her.

Violet spoke up, defending herself. "Well, yeah, we're children."

"Well, that's no excuse. I was never as short as you," He gloated hoping to get a smile from Sonny - he did. He also had to give the children an answer, and he did - an honest one, at that. He felt his eyes focusing on her smile - gosh darn endorphins.

"You were once," said Mike.

"Was not, know why? Because I distinctly remember putting a hat on top of my head." He lightly touched the flap of his hat. "Look at your short little arms, you could never reach."

"Do you remember what it was like being a kid?" She was curious about the big-eared boy. His heart was in the right place, definitely, but hadn't he ever been told how important it was to respect other people's privacy. Not everyone had good childhoods, afterall. She felt she couldn't dislike the boy, though. He was very likeable. The entire time he had been here he had the kind of look on his face as though as he was in paradise, not at all minding the chocolatier's quirks. Sonny hoped he won the special at the end.

"Oh boy do I," Staring out fondly, he loses his smile with a frown and asked himself under his breath. "Do I?"

He seemed to be tapping into long forgotten memories. Sonny had buried at the memories and nostalgia she didn't like in the abyss of her mind, where everything she couldn't and didn't want to remember went. Once it went there, she wouldn't know it for the rest of her life. What surprised Sonny was the fact that she hadn't buried away the memory of the time she saved one of her classmates in a lake.

She didn't remember the day. She didn't remember the time or the girl's name. Just that the children had just been let out after the A-Level Maths exam for advanced children, and the boys had been teasing the girl about her size, she was rather pudgy, and she was different from all the others - she wasn't wealthy, her family wasn't well connected, and she or her relatives were not powerful. She was there completely for her intelligence. And the other snotty children must have been envious because they called her names, and despite her shouts of help, no one helped. Sonny was the last coming out when she spotted her sinking figure and diving it, not a good swimmer herself, she tried to keep herself conscious as she came the near-bottom of the lake. It had been so suffocating, Sonny couldn't feel her brain and she saw lower and lower, all she focused on was, getting to the girl. When she had come to, she had almost died of pneumonia and when she was checking out, all of the bills were paid.

"Mr. Wonka! Mr. Wonka!" Unbeknownst to each other, it turned that the two of them were both spacing out together when the big-eared boy's voice brought them back to orbit. "We're headed for a tunnel!"

He didn't seem fully out of his cataleptic state, blinking slightly with an unfocused tone, "Oh yeah. Full speed ahead."

Everything jerked as the beat of the drum quickened, along with the rowing of the Oompa Loompas in a single movement. Veruca looked around, why Sonny wasn't surprised the little daughter of the devil wasn't as startled as she was feeling wasn't a mystery, Sherlock. The eldest daughter, admittedly, hadn't been used to complete darkness before; her ceiling was a luminous galaxy where the stars twirled and swished softly around the corners of her room, to keep the darkness away.

"How can they see where they're going?" Violet asked the same time Sonny thought the sentence.

"They can't," Mr. Wonka was still speaking a toneless voice, still trying to clear his head away from the unhappy memory he had just pictured. "There's no knowing where they're going."

Sonny couldn't think of any other way to die then having a pink boat crashed in a river of chocolate, nine human sized bodies recovered again the minty meadows along with two dozen shapes of what looked like an over-exaggerated little person.

"Switch on the lights!"

Bright glows of light beamed down from the red-brownish ceiling just as they were falling, after entering the tunnel. The swift current went wild sending the boat move at curvy edges to move even faster as Sonny's head was thrown back in the quickness, moving along with the zesty rapids, the Oompa Loompas must have been familiar about just going with the flow, seated very still aside from all the hard jerks back and forth. Vigorous vitality swam through Sonny.

Mr. Wonka looked at his guests, all gripping the bench with alarmed looks on their faces from the atrocious manner of this ride. Except for the big-eared boy and his grandparent. They appeared as though they were sitting on top of the world, their smiles wide. Them, and the wart girl's sister. There was something unique that the grandparent, the boy and the wart girl's sister all had in common, mostly the boy and the girl. She was different…she wasn't a flash like the gum-chewing girl or her wart sister. She wasn't a know-it-all like the devil boy who cracked the system. And she wasn't a greedy one like the fat one that only vanished up the pipe an hour ago, despite having some shape that she must have gotten from Wonka candy. He had this strange feeling gurgling around inside of him…He didn't know how to apprehend it. He felt weird.

Sonny, meanwhile, was too busy focusing on the vividly psychedelic colors around her, her surroundings starting to turn into a fusion that confused her in a good way. She just wanted to get a jar of different paint and splatter it all over a blank space, hoping to create everything without giving too much away. The scent of chocolate tasted tangy on her tongue mixed with the underlying current.

Slowing down to a calmer current, Sonny looked around. She saw a silvery-blue shade bouncing off Mr. Wonka's face, making her think that she only ever saw shades like those from the way the moon glimmered through out of her home.

"People, keep an eye out," He was looking around slightly. "We're passing some very important rooms here."

She saw circular, vault-like doors along the walls with small landing platforms in front of them. Each door gave off its own glow. They passed one labeled CLOTTING CREAM; a pink gave off from COFFEE CREAM; and a light bluish glow came from a room that read HAIR CREAM. Only Mr. Wonka would have these types of rooms, Sonny thought considerately.

Mrs. Beauregarde turned around curiously, "What do you use hair cream for?"

He primped his hair with a smile, "To lock in moisture," he giggled as the mother turned around weirdly after not receiving an answer.

She heard a crackling, popping and snapping so sharply it reminded Sonny of how Veruca spoke and how Violet chewed her gum. She turned her attention to see a cow suspended by suspenders while the little one called Oompa Loompas cracked whips as it. At each particular whip the cow let out a moo and she knitted her brows together, understanding the meaning:

"Whipped cream," she and the big-eared boy have got to stop doing that, glancing at each other again. They smiled at each other. They would really have to get to learn each other's name some time.

"Precisely," Mr. Wonka giggled towards the big-eared boy and grinned at Sonny. His hands resting on the top of his cane, even in the odd light he could still make out some color on her cheeks. He was starting to wonder how to she felt when he smiled or beamed at her.

Veruca looked over her shoulder, having been taught the best but apparently still not good enough, "That doesn't make sense."

"For your information, little girl, whipped cream isn't whipped cream at all unless it's been whipped with whips," Mr. Wonka said in a similar you'd use to talk to a slow child, as though it were obvious. "Everybody knows that."

Not everybody, apparently. Veruca wasn't any child special, besides the fact that her family was wealthy, well-connected, and powerful - she really didn't have an good talents to offer. She played certain instruments well but not well to be asked to join the orchestra. She did ballet at a fine pace but not fine enough to get asked to show as an example to the younger ones on how to this and how to do that. That had always been Sonny - Veruca wouldn't dare admit she was slightly jealous, seeing as Sonny got the attention she didn't want, as usual. Her sister had always been the one to take the plunge, to play songs that nobody even thought of playing on the flute or the violin, to mix into other styles of dance into a art she barely had tolerance for, to sketch everything around her even if it were ugly or the person or thing had no idea what she was doing. That had always been Sonny, so do not be surprised when you realize that Veruca thought like every other snobby child in the world.

The pace started to move fast again, leading the vessel to enter a large area filled with dark red-blue walls including many arches, the chocolate running around them turning with circular motion like rapids. The colors start to change again as Sonny's eyes widen at them, looking around jovially, trying not to blink because the color could only last so long. What surprised Sonny, though, was show even with how hard everything was jerking that nobody had fallen off or tumbled into the chocolate. Mr. Wonka couldn't risk almost losing another life in the surprising unpleasant death by chocolate.

Passing a jelly bean door, the river goes calm again by changing color. It all had a dome-like ceiling where a light beamed through from the middle, as though it had opened into the heavens, although that did sound likely to risk to impure the chocolate and so, by Sonny's best guess, it was either a fluorescent light - it seemed likely because anybody in the factory could on night-time rides - or more logically, a window.

"Stop the boat! I want to show you guys something," Willy was excited.

The beating of the drum came to a final thump, stopping everyone at a platform where it was labeled the INVENTING ROOM. It was shinning a slightly purple-pinkish color.

Sonny saw great machines, most with colorful, circular shapes, that were dispersed around the room with lots of test tubes, vials, beakers, flasks and other things filled with different colored chemicals lying around them. She hesitantly decided to follow close behind Mr. Wonka into the room at a good distance, worried about breaking something and ruining an invention that might revolutionize anything. Steam swirled with air, leading the air to become humid and even warmer while Oompa-Loompas in black suits walk around checking each area with clip-boards. They appeared so perfectly at home in the slightly hot room and their hair amazingly stayed in the same style, while Sonny was positive that her hair would be taller than her if it frizzed up.

Mr. Wonka spoke loudly over the humming and gurgles of the chemicals and vials behind that were making clinking sounds. "Now this is the most important room in the factory." Sonny was starting to get the feeling that every room in the factory was just as an important, she thought with a smile. With her knowing, he noticed it but went on, using his hands to show the absolute statement was about to say next. "Now, everyone enjoy yourselves, but just don't touch anything, okay? Go on, go on, scoot."

Everybody wandered off, trying to keep up with their children. Sonny moved away from Veruca to get a look at what the Oompa Loompas were standing in front of, taking notes and checking temperatures, she kept a good distance that she wondered if they even felt her shadow. In the large vials they stood in front of, many colors were distorted happily inside and she couldn't help but asking:

"Can something like this be used for teething?"

They all turned up to look at her confusedly, as though she had just said the first random thing that popped into her brain. Some of them shook their heads, remarking on the Tall Woman who had come in with the Wart Girl reminded them so much of their Great Cocoa Bean Man - or Mr. Wonka to most - and they couldn't help but wonder if the two of them could get on together, as two people together in that sort of way.

Sonny slanted her brow. "I'm sorry for speaking out of term, but it's just that what inside those vials, it looks unbelievably stretchable and it got me wondering if you could roll up a ball of it and give to a baby that's teething, and the baby could chew on it and not get contaminated by something or another."

"Well that sounds like a great idea," Sonny nearly fell backwards when she saw Mr. Wonka smiling over her shoulder, much more statuesque that she had thought. "I never thought of that," he giggled at the slight color on Sonny's cheeks. "No one has."

She tried to regain her cool, though it was hard to find something you never had. "I can see why, considering that babies have no teeth and thus can't really digest sweets," she stood straight, looking away back towards the vials. Mr. Wonka couldn't let her get away, not after he had worked up most of his courage to come over and talk to her. Despite the fact that he was hoping to do talk to her alone, he realized that perhaps the Oompa Loompas might not give a toss about what he and Sonny had to talk about, even though he didn't realize how wrong he was. He looked up eagerly when she spoke again. "I take that back, most babies can ate chocolate, I even know some who have been eating Wonka chocolate since they were eight months old."

The fact that she was practically complimenting his chocolate lead Mr. Wonka to try and stop his heart from fluttering. "Why not create a line of chocolate - any soft kind, really - for babies or toddler? It'd seem much more convenient if it were, that way all that chocolate doesn't have to go to waste because a baby can finish it all."

He was considering, nodding his head from side to side. "I dunno. I really dunno."

Sonny turned to look to at him, hoping she didn't irritate him. "I'm sorry, I was caught in my own world for a moment. I didn't mean to force my ideas onto you like that. It was just a passing thought," she smiled diminutively, not noticing that an Oompa Loompa had taken every detail she had mentioned.

He took a deep breath, urging himself to say _some_thing - _any_thing! It'd only be a matter of time before one of the guests would ask him a question, not that he wouldn't proud to answer it because he is always proud of his work, but just rather he didn't want to look like an idiot - at least in front of her, not caring that many of the guest already thought that he was off his rocker.

Come on, Willy, just say act natural. "You must like candy, huh?" He could have banged his head into the wall for hours, when he meant say something natural, of course his mind must have took it for natural stupidity.

She blinked at him, her eyes still very lightless. He just couldn't get over her eyes. They just had no color, but from the looks of it, she didn't seem unhappy. In fact, he couldn't see any emotion at all in her eyes. He couldn't even begin to wonder what went on in her head.

Sonny blinked again at him, a slightly confused look on her face before she nodded with a broad half-smile, "Who doesn't?" She asked rhetorically. "I honestly don't know how to answer the question I just gave you, but I'm guessing jerks don't. but yes, I adore it, it's just recently I haven't been able to have as much as I'd like."

"Why?" He asked.

"Oh…well, I really didn't think I would have to explain myself, but even since you told the world about the Golden tickets, things have been…as much as I'd love to sugar-coat I can't - things have been very chaotic. So chaotic that for a period of time I had to stop going to my favorite candy shop for the moment." Sonny smiled. "But I love it all the same. I think I've been eating it since I was little, mostly the lollipops."

He was amazed. The girl who have had all the candy in the way, and yet for some reason, she didn't - she only had a few. She was starting to think that she could have had a chance at finding the Golden ticket if her beastly sister hadn't found it first - speaking of which, he had seen her on the television after she found it, he wondered why he had let in a cheater like that into his factory. Whoever deserved the ticket the most was, the female worker that shelled nuts that found the ticket. And her. Sonny deserved it. He couldn't understand why she didn't even try to look for the Golden ticket.

About to respond, Violet unintentionally interrupted with a question. She and Mike had been standing by a small tank where Oompa Loompas were snorkeling around after small candy balls: "Hey, Mr. Wonka, what's this?"

He walked over, holding his hand out above the water when an Oompa Loompa popped up and handed him a small red ball. "Oh, let me show you." He walked away to wave the red candy ball around so their guests could get a better look. "Thank you." He smiled. "These are everlasting gobstoppers. They're for children who are given very little allowance money. You can suck on it all year long and it will never get any smaller. Isn't that neat?"

His eyes looked over to Sonny to her smiling when he let out one of his giggles. "Wicked, but you wouldn't sell as many, would you?" She asked, trying to remain polite and hoping she didn't criticize to the point where he'd call her a mumbler.

"Nope, because they're each a different flavor and I'll keep coming up with new flavors and some that have more than one flavor, because it wouldn't be fun to have something for so long that just tastes the same." He didn't seem to offence.

"It's like gum," Violet concluded smacking her gum again.

"No," Willy stated very distinctly, holding the candy in front of him. "Gum is for chewing, and if you tried chewing one of these Gobstoppers you'd break all of your little teeth off. They sure do taste terrific," he held it one more time up to his eyes with a chuffed smile at his work.

Placing the candy ball on another table bustling with vials and beakers, he pulled out a crème-colored piece of toffee and held it between two gloved fingers. "And this is hair toffee," he explained. "You suck down one of these little boogers and in exactly half an hour a brand-new crop of hair will grow out of the top of your little noggins." It sounded wonderful but Sonny felt bad that nobody in the Salt household was going bald, she was positive that they'd love a hair toffee. "And a moustache, and a beard."

She swore that Mike Teavee's adorable face was not going to help him when one day he ended something the wrong thing and would lose a tooth because of it. She rolled his eyes at his lofty tone. "Who wants a beard?" Does that boy have no sense of imagination. Think - does Santa Claus ring any bells?

"Well…," Mr. Wonka thought for a moment. "Beatniks for one, folk singers and motorbike riders; You know, all those hip, jazzy, super-cool, neat, keen, and groovy cats." Sonny almost lost her smile when she saw Violet and Veruca glaring at each other, plotting, causing her to remember to keep an eye on those two. "It's in the fridge, daddy-o. Are you hip to the jive, can you dig what I'm laying down? I knew that you could. Slide me some skin, soul-brother." She laughed softly when she saw Mike just stare with slightly widen eyes at the outstretched hand, probably not expecting the chocolatier to have an answer for everything. She didn't realize that for the moment being if she asked him a question, he would get tongue-tied and end up appearing strange than usual.

"Unfortunately, the mixture isn't quite right yet, 'cause an Oompa-Loompa tried one yesterday, and well -" While to trying to imagine what it might look it, Cousin It on cue walked up to them, in the same size of an Oompa Loopma with dark, wavy hair dragging as it stopped. She wondered what It was thinking just as Mike stared at it incredulously. Mr. Wonka asked loudly, "How are you today?" It held up two thumbs and Mr. Wonka gave a nervous smile. "You look great."

Trying to hide her smile, Mr. Wonka walked over to a large machine, the circular walls are clear and reveal the many wires inside, and I absently note that above the machine an Oompa-Loompa walks along the catwalks. "Watch this," he said in enthusiasm, pulling on a small white lever with a red knob on top. As soon as he pulled it he hurries over to where a large silver part of the machine started rotated to before stopping and opening up as the chemicals in the machine bubble and a whirring sound filled the room. A small metal arm is revealed only to turn into another, smaller one, and then again and from that one comes a piece of gum.

Violet took the single piece of gum and stared at it. Mike must have not realized that anything that caem out of this factory was special, but he spoke out of term again. "You mean that's it?"

"Do you even know what _it_ is?" He said it the exact same time Sonny thought it.

"It's gum," Violet stated as matter-of-factly.

"Yeah." Willy nodded, explaining. "It's a stick of the most amazing and sensational gum in the whole universe. Know why? Know why?" Sonny found herself smiling at his excitement and grandeur in his work. "Because this gum is a full three-course dinner all by itself."

"Why would anyone want that?" Veruca asked. Sonny could see why Veruca would ask that, as the Salt family didn't have the hassle of cooking their own food, besides the fact that Veruca and a kitchen didn't go together unless she was using the kitchen as a weapen against you. She didn't realize that that piece of gum could solve the hunger issues of the world, not only that but save people money to buy more necessities without the botehr of not having enough food money. Though, if you'd think about it, everybody would be always be chewing and popping gum and that was just too annoying to think about. Not only that but wouldn't local grcoeries go out of business?

"Veruca," Sonny said to her. "Mind your manners."

Mr. Wonka was marveling how Sonny managed to quiet down Veruca just with a few words, and in that marvel, he seemed to forget what he was going to say next. So when he opened his mouth and no words came out, he felt around inside his jacket, hearing someone laugh slightly when he pulled out his cue cards:

"It would be the end of all kitchens and all cooking," He read in a persuasive tone. "Just a little strip of Wonka's magic chewing gum and that is all you will…" At the point he had to move to another card. "…Ever needed - breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This piece of gum happens to be tomato soup, roast beef, and blueberry pie."

"It sounds great," Sonny breathed out.

"It sounds weird," Veruca said.

"It sounds like my kind of gum," Violet announced, pulling the gum in her mouth out and sticking it behind her ear. Ew, Sonny thought, deciding to avoid all gum all costs for a while.

"I'd rather you didn't." Mr. Wonka waved his hand around in warning with a serious look on his face. "There's still one or two things that are-"

"I'm the world-record holder in chewing gum, I'm not afraid of anything." Violet stuffed the strip of gum into her mouth haughtily.

He gives her a look that sort of tells her to think what she wants, averting his eyes for a moment before looking again.

"How is it, honey?" Mrs. Beauregarde asked, smirking.

"It's amazing! Tomato soup, I can feel it running down my throat." Despite the look of wonder on the young Beauregarde's face, Mr. Wonka looked as though he was trying to remain calm with a nervous smile on his face, at least glad she liked it.

"Yeah. Spit it out."

Sonny couldn't help but wonder what a side effect might be? Maybe she'll lose her sense of taste or any human sense, really? Perhaps she'll turn an odd color? Or maybe she'll just get sick? The possibilities were endless.

"Young lady, I think you'd better -" The big-eared boy's grandparent tried but Violet interrupted him:

"It's changing, roast beef with baked potato. With crispy skin and butter!"

Mr. Wonka gives a worried look, matching the one on Sonny's face.

"Keep chewing, kiddo," Violet's mother kept encouraging with a haughty smile, as her eyes dart to Veruca who pout her lips and glares. "My little girl's gonna be the first person in the world to have a chewing-gum meal."

"Yeah, I'm just a little concerned about the-"

"Blueberry Pie and Ice cream!"

"That part," He finished, now realizing that it was perhaps too late, when Veruca said:

"What's happening to her nose?" A small patch of blue was starting to bloom there on the tip of her nose. Sonny loved colors, but were people supposed to be blue?

"It's turning blue," Sonny answered in astonishment.

Violet raised a manicured hand to her nose when her mother said in eliciting shock, "Her gone has gone purple," The violet color is tracing along her veins before dyeing the skin in-between them violet as well. "What do you mean?" She sounded sincerely Arcadian, not thinking about the effects the gum might have on her, perhaps only thinking about making her mother proud.

"Violet, you're turning Violet!" Violet looked at the chocolatier in panic, the mother in pure horror. "What's happening?"

Mr. Wonka was starting to back away, answering slowly as he did, too startled. "Well, I told you I hadn't quite got it right… 'Cause it goes a little funny when it gets to the dessert." Veruca wasn't trying to conceal her look of enjoyment. "It's the Blueberry Pie that does it." His voice started to sound slightly distorted. "I'm terribly sorry." He had the sort of look on his face as though he wanted to say something but couldn't because it wasn't on his cue cards, with an ill at ease, scrunched up look before ducking from where Sonny could see him.

Everybody backed away, even the mother instead of comforting her, as the blue travel all over her body from her hair to his tracksuit. "Mother, what's happening to me?"

"She's swelling up," gasped the big-eared boy's grandfather. Sonny realizes that the little boy is still very close to her, and she gently started to tug him along with the rest of group that was shuffling away from the sight.

"Like a blueberry." Everybody was too shocked to notice the two's unison.

Sonny sees Mr. Wonka rise up for a minute with a look of terror on his face before lowering back down, before unexpectedly appearing behind a gaping Mrs. Beauregarde staring about her swelling daughter in disbelief.

"I tried it on, like," when he starts she flinched slightly from where the voice was coming from, "twenty Oompa Loompas, and each other ended up a blueberry. It's just weird," his smile and giggle were nervous.

"But I can't have a blueberry for a daughter," argued Mrs. Beauregarde after taking another glance at her daughter's large form. "How's she supposed to compete?"

"Competing, is that all you're programmed to say? Your daughter could explode for we know and all you can think about is, completing!" Mr. Wonka happened to be thinking the same things, watching the eldest Salt daughter spit the words at a shocked Mrs. Beauregarde.

Veruca enjoyed that. She had only seen her sister act like as a rarity, and she was hopeful to make it last. "You could put her in a county fair!"

Mr. Wonka must have been trying to be positive because he smiled slightly at the suggestion. He regretted it. He saw a look of dislike in Sonny's eyes as she averted her eyes from the chocolatier and instead glared at her little sister. Just about to say something to her, a beat started and then singing:

"_Yeah, yeah_

_Listen close, listen hard _

_The tale of Violet Beauregarde _

_This gentle girl, she sees no wrong _

_Chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, _

_chewing, chewing all day long _

_Chewing, chewing all day long _

_Chewing, chewing all day long _

_Chewing, chewing all day long,"_

Sonny averted her eyes, her eyes still in a glare as Mr. Willy danced slightly to the techno beat of the song as Mrs. Beauregarde narrowed her eyes at the song, watching as the Oompa Loompas started to jump on Violet to form a pyramid against her screams as they started to roll on her, still dancing. Now realizing what they were doing as distraction, they started to roll in the direction of the large, round door that lead to the boat. She liked the fact that the Oompa Loompas were at least trying to be considerate enough to keep their mind about the worse things in the situation. Just as Mr. Wonka was doing.

"_She goes on chewing till at last _

_Her chewing muscles grow so fast _

_From her face her giant chin _

_Sticks out just like a violin _

_Chewing, chewing all day long _

_Chewing, chewing all day long _

_Chewing, chewing all day long _

_Oompa-Loompa, Oompa-Loompa, _

_Oompa-Loompa, Oompa-Loompa_

_For years and years she chews away _

_Her jaws get stronger every day _

_And with one great tremendous chew _

_They bite the poor girl's tongue in two _

_And that is why we try so hard _

_To save Miss Violet Beauregarde _

_Chewing, chewing all day long _

_Chewing, chewing all day long _

_Chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, _

_chewing, chewing all day long._

_Chewing, chewing all day long._

_Chewing, chewing all day long."_

Violet was heard shouting to Mr. Wonka as the Oompa Loompas were having a slight hard time getting her into the door with her new size. Speaking of the chocolatier, he stopped bouncing to the fading beat when Mrs. Beauregarde stared at him expecting him to say something smart.

"I want you to roll Miss Beauregarde into the boat and take her along to the Juicing Room at once, okay?" He asked the Oompa Loompa staring up at him for an answer for what to do next.

"The Juicing Room? What are they gonna do to her there?" Mrs. Beauregarde felt seriously worried now, thinking of the Salt girl's words. She wasn't ready to lose Violet.

"Er, they're gonna squeeze her, like a little pimple," Even he felt slightly weird about his awkward analogy, but continued in explanation. "We gotta squeeze all of that juice out of her immediately."

Mrs. Beauregarde gaped around, recalling Sonny's words once more about the fact that her daughter might explode, so she quickly ran towards her daughter. Everybody heard her muffled cry for help, "Mother, help me! Please!" After successfully pushing her through with a huff, they rolled out of view.

An uncomfortable minute passes and Mr. Wonka decides that with the Juicing Room, that Miss Beauregarde would be fine, as he started to feel glad that he kept that room instead of breaking down the walls for extra space like he had originally planned.

"Come on," he said. "Let's boogie."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I'm surprised I've gotten this far in chapters! That song I sang about Easter bunnies' laser eyes was from Saturday Night Live, last Saturday. And now, tomorrow - today is Friday - Zac Efron will be hosting - hopefully not as a musical guest, too - to promote his new film about being 17 again! It's sort of that movie with the actor you hate, but after seeing the trailer you can't help but think that it does look funny. So now you're having mixed feelings about it…anyway! Onwards! Oh on! I just realized something because of this chapter…! Crap…too late now…

BTW: I only own Sonny Salt.

**Chapter Eight**

The remaining guests watched on a shimmering white corridor as Violet Beauregarde and her mother was taken on the great pink vessel, Mr. Wonka the only waving them off enthusiastically. He lifted his cane in one hand, smiling as he gestured for everyone to follow him once the boat was out of sight.

Everyone had to quicken the pace to keep up with bustling chocolatier, "Without the boat, we'll have to twice as fast just to keep up with the schedule."

"Mr. Wonka?" The big-eared boy was walking in the front with other remaining children, occasionally taking glances at his grandfather to make sure he was doing fine behind him with Sonny and Mr. Teavee.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you decide to let people in after all these years?" He asked.

"Well, so they could see the factory, of course!" Mr. Wonka answered in a cheery tone with a giggle, as if it were obvious.

"But why now? And why only five?" Sonny stepped beside the young boy when she asked.

Before he could answer, Mike rudely interrupted, shoving the big-eared boy out of the way, causing him to bump into Sonny with a flush. She smiled, steadying him so he was now walking to her right.

"What's the special prize at the end? And who gets it?"

He seemed to be getting used to his attitude so he giggled, "The best kind of prize is a SUR-prise!"

Sonny rolled her eyes playfully at his tone, and she looked at her, causing her to smile before looking down. Mr. Wonka felt some slight coloring in his pale cheeks. Sonny hoped he didn't seem the ugly pink on her cheeks.

Veruca pushed past Mike, an glint of something sinister in her eyes, "Will Violet always be a blueberry?"

Sonny scolded her sister softly at such a question, trying to smile again.

"No. Maybe. I dunno." He answered with a smile. "But that's what you get from chewing gum all day, it's just disgusting."

"If you hate gum so much, why do you make it?" Asked Mike in a contemptuous manner.

"Cheeky boy…" The chocolatier heard the eldest Salt daughter murmur under her breath, just as he was thinking the same thing. Instead he smiled broadly in a cheerily, good-spirited way. "Once again, you really shouldn't mumble, 'cause it's kinda starting to bum me out!"

"Do you remember the first candy you ever ate?" The big-eared boy asked, and dazedly the chocolatier came to a halt after he answered in a dreamy voice, "No." He appeared as though he was focusing on something entirely in her mind.

After another second, the same dreamy voice replied, "I'm sorry I was having a flashback," with his eyes slightly wide at something nobody but him could see.

Sonny didn't want to be admit she was getting a bit creeped, even though she liked the creepiness that made up the chocolatier, she couldn't help but step an inch back holding her sister's hand to pull her with her. "I see…,"

"Do these flashbacks happen often?" Mr. Teavee asked.

Mr. Wonka pushed his lips into a half smile, very broad with a somehow, slightly mischievously evil edge to it. "Increasingly…," he answered, "…Today."

They continued to walk on until they got to a door that read NUT SORTING ROOM. Veruca spoke up, feigning innocence, speaking to Sonny, "It's too bad Daddy couldn't come. I'd bet he would have loved to see this room,"

"Speaking of which," Sonny had Veruca reach into the pockets of her mink-fur coat, "I get the feeling that I'll end up hating myself if I don't give you my Father's card, because, you see, he is the nut business himself." She smiled diminutively when she saw the chocolatier take the business card she handed to him and throw it over his shoulder without a glance.

"Are you using the Hammermax 4000 to do your sorting, as well?" Sonny asked politely.

He must have been spacing out for a second, "…No," he stated simply. "Haha. You're really weird…" he jokingly giggled before walking forward, leaving Sonny with a slight flush. But I like it, he started to wish he could create a candy that go back to reverse time so he could have added that to his sentence.

Sonny still felt her flush but she didn't feel offended, in fact, she just loved the way he dealt with the snobby people that Sonny grew up around. And she swore, her heart thumped slowly at the remembrance, she saw him wink at her and she was sure that her knees would have given out by now.

They stepped onto a high white platform, watching from behind a metal fence to see little fuzzy forest creatures seated below on tiny seats, banging things simultaneously and throwing the same things over their tiny shoulders, if you could saw animals like these had shoulders. What they were throwing over their shoulders appeared to be - nuts.

"Squirrels!" Exclaimed Veruca with a smile, leaning on the baby blue metal fence that blocked her way.

"Yeah, squirrels," agreed Mr. Wonka in a slightly sarcastic, thrill-sounding tone that showed he really wasn't paying attention to what was being said. "These squirrels are specially trained to get the nuts of shells."

"Why use squirrels? Why not Oompa Loompas?" Mr. Teavee asked.

"Because only squirrels can get the whole walnut out almost every single time," Mr. Wonka made a small shape with his fingers to demonstrate. He pointed towards one, "See how they tap the nuts with their little knuckles? Oh, look!"

The one who was pointing had stopped, bringing the nut up to his ear. "I think that's one got a bad nut," the squirrel quickly deposed of the nut by throwing it over its shoulder, watching as the nuts thrown away went tumbling towards a large hole in the center of the large area.

Sonny was about to ask a question that just popped into her head - why the squirrels were out and about when it was winter time, and why they weren't hibernating - when Veruca turned to face her sister, "Alison, get me one of those squirrels, I want one!"

Her sister took a glance at Mr. Wonka before protesting, "But Veruca, dear, you have many marvelous pets at home."

"All I own is a pony, two dogs, four cats, six bunny rabbits, two parakeets, three canaries, a green parrot that talks, a turtle and a silly old hamster! I want a squirrel!" Everyone watched in exasperation at the demanding little girl.

Sonny didn't know how to react to this. When Veruca wanted something, she was went to her Father - never her Mother or Sonny - but with Mr. Salt not being present, her sister was all she had left. While anyone would have seen this as an opportunity to tell their ungrateful little sister off, Sonny felt she - like her backbone-less Father - didn't have it in her.

Veruca had won a bet with herself, glad that her Father's genes ran into Sonny.

Mr. Wonka had lost a bet with himself, surely Sonny wouldn't give in so easily to the wart girl, would she? Even if the great chocolatier had a sibling - a younger one - he wouldn't give in to it if it just rudely demanded things like that.

Sonny held in a sigh, standing straight. "All right, Veruca. Once we get home I'll tell Daddy to get you one just as soon as he possibly can."

"But I don't want any old squirrel! I want a trained squirrel!" Veruca's words nearly shattered her older sister.

Mr. Wonka was starting to regret his explanation about the squirrel being trained, he would have not minded if Veruca just got an ordinary, rabies-carrying squirrel to show her a thing or two.

"Very well," Sonny said, turning back to Mr. Wonka, who in turn unknowingly smiled at her, "How much do you want for one of these squirrels? Name your price." Sonny prayed that the chocolatier would just let her have it, to tell her off, there wasn't anything she wanted more. She just hoped he'd be polite about it.

Veruca turned to smile brightly at him, knowing he'd give into her easily.

She was wrong. Mr. Wonka seemed to disappointed in Sonny for the moment, just letting her sight walk over her like a piece of pavement. "Oh they're not for sale. She can't have one." He said the last statement as though Veruca were a slow child.

Veruca's smile fell and she turned around to face her sister. "Alison!"

In a moment of speechlessness, Mr. Wonka turned everybody's attention from the slightly flushed girl. "I'm sorry, darling, Mr. Wonka's being unreasonable," he imitated with a posh look, his nose up in the air of exactly what Sonny's Father sounded like.

"If you won't get me one…," she slipped under the bars of the fence, moving without ease, holding onto the railing as she walked down the steps that lead to the little critters, who all turned to stop and stare at the strange human walking towards them, a look of suspense in their eyes as the mulish girl continued towards them. "I'll get one myself!"

"Little girl…" Mr. Wonka said half-heartedly but all the more serious.

"Veruca," Sonny was started to call, "Get back here this instant!"

But the younger sister just kept walking with a determined look on her face, each step that Veruca got closer to a squirrel her sister got more worried as the big-eared boy walked up to her knowing it was a bad time, though he just said to know: "Does she really have all those pets?" He whispered to her as Sonny, still frantic, nodded, "The last time I had checked. Let's just hope they're still alive."

Just as Veruca was getting to her target, Mr. Wonka called to her, "Don't touch that squirrel's nuts! It'll make him crazy!" (That did not sound right) as Sonny noticed that when he yelled, he had a slight lisp, she started to shake at the fence frantically worried. When the critters jumped out of their seats, Veruca flinched, moving backwards when all of the other squirrels started to swarm, that was Sonny was getting desperate, shouting for her sister to try and come back.

She didn't know why it didn't cross her mind to crawl through the fence to get her sister, perhaps she felt like she might be breaking some rules, she just shook at the fence watching as Veruca tried shoving off the squirrels that circled around her body rapidly before falling backwards, only the squirrels completely on her, pinning her down.

"Alison!" She yelled. "Alison! I want them to stop!"

It would break Sonny's heart if she knew that while Mr. Wonka searched through a large ring of keys, he was simply causing a diversion, when in actuality, he knew which key it was. He just thought that the spoilt girt needed to get a real taste of real life, that if you spoiled your child too much, they'd get attacked by supposedly friendly critters. He never intended Veruca to come her sister, though. That wasn't part of what he had planned out. He had expected her Father or at least her Mother. Not Sonny. He didn't like that look of pure fright in her dark eyes, moisture visible at the edge of them.

"What are they doing to her?" The big-eared boy asked when the squirrel Veruca had been aiming for, with all his buddies holding her down, was walking on her chest slowly towards her face.

It placed its beady hands on her forehead when Mr. Wonka answered, "They're testing to see if she's a bad nut." There was a thinning silence as the squirrel tapped loudly on her head, before listening in when its ears pricked at what it heard. "Oh my goodness…she _is_ a bad nut," he didn't sound surprised though he often believed that everyone, at least snobby people like Veruca, could have some kind of good in them.

With group force they lifted her up, carrying her across the swirl-designed floor, Veruca still shouting for her sister. "Where are they taking her?" Sonny asked.

"To where all bad nuts - the garbage chute."

Veruca's nails scratched across the spotless floor and then down she went, it could have been enjoyable if you didn't know what was down below, you could have enjoyed the slide. Not in the case, as Sonny felt like jelly, about to give out when her sister's screams lessened.

"Where does that chute go to?" Sonny was desperate.

Mr. Wonka regretted answering. "To the incinerator…," he looked with a slight smile. "But don't worry we only light it on Tuesdays."

Mike pointed out the obvious, "Today _is _Tuesday."

The candy-maker glared for a second before trying to be positive again, "Well there's always a chance they decided not to light it today…" He never though he could have seen that much hope fade from her lightless eyes. "Now, she may be stuck just over the rim. If that's the case then all you have to do is reach in and pull her out." He opened the door with an eerie creak and Sonny sprinted down the stairs until she was that the Oompa Loompas started to come out of the doors at each side of the large area, starting to sing as Sonny slowed her step:

"_Veruca Salt, the little brute,_

_Has just gone down the garbage chute_

_And she will meet as she descends_

_A rather different set of friends_

_A rather different set of friends_

_A rather different set of friends_

_A fish head, for example, cut_

_This morning from a halibut._

_An oyster from an oyster stew,_

_A steak that no one else would chew,_

_And lots of other things as well,_

_Each with a rather horrid smell._

_horrid smell..."_

Sonny watched wide-eyed as they started to throw oversized things of what they mentioned into the chute.

_"These are Veruca's new found friends_

_That she will meet as she descends,_

_These are Veruca's new found friends_

_The one's who spoiler her_

_Who indeed?"_

At this point as Sonny without hesitation started to move, taking one glance at the chocolatier, who as usual was bobbing his head from side to side at the beat. Sonny looked around as a few Oompa Loompas started to skip around in a circle around her, wagging their little fingers. Others sang the lyrics in front of the squirrels who just watched.

_"Who pandered to her every need?_

_Who turned her into such a brat?_

_Who are the culprits? _

_Who did that?_

_The guilty ones now this is sad_

_Are…"_

Sonny stared as one Oompa Loompa somehow obtained a large portrait of her Mother and threw it into the chute, while another did the same only with a portrait of Mr. Salt as they stared at her, waiting. She flushed, clearly her throat to herself, before trying. _"Dear Old Mum and Loving Dad…" _she sang softly but loud enough.

Before she could even blink, the Oompa Loompas were gone and the same squirrel that had checked if Veruca as a bad nut crawled quickly towards hers, running past her foot, causing her to lift her which at that bottom, she promptly lost her balance and slipped on her backside.

She stayed very still, not needing the squirrels to hold her down as the squirrel sat on top of her chest, knocking its little knuckles onto her forehead, shutting her eyes when she felt its strange touch. The squirrel stared at her for a second, Sonny shook out her hair over her shoulders as she sat up slightly, the squirrel still there. She didn't know it, but the squirrel was looking at her incredulously, her scent was the same kind of that horrible girl that tried to grab him and yet it was individually one all its own. It did it again, receiving the same answer.

The squirrel hopped off her, leading Sonny very slowly to start to get up, still on her knees. She started to crawl towards the gigantic hole, swallowing spit before she stood upright, brushing nonexistence dust from her sweater before taking a closer glance at the hole, seeing down but darkness. The squirrel was still staring at her, and the other squirrels had stopped working.

Without warning, Sonny dived sliding down the chute, going to get her sister as everybody's eyes widened in amazement. She had actually thrown herself in. Mr. Wonka was starting to feel genuinely worried, about to make sure that the incinerator wasn't on, when in a sudden, all the squirrels dived in after her.

Was it Suicide Tuesday? The chocolatier wondered in disbelief, that girl was too…different to be a bad nut. Would she really risk her own safety for her little sister who wasn't even a good person to begin with? Is that what fa - fa - fam - that word did for each other? He certainly wouldn't do that for anyone, maybe an Oompa Loompa or two, but still -

"Mr. Wonka! What's that sound?" The big-eared boy asked when the sound was all around the room, pattering loudly like clanking, and it was as though it were getting closer and closer and -

Everyone watched. A long train of squirrels were swarming out from the hole quickly, obviously struggling with nothing to grab onto but they seemed to be doing fine, even though it was as if they had something weighing them -

There, at the very end of the furry train, was a Sonny salt scratching at the floor with her long nails, desperate to get back into the chute as every time she tried to crawl back or wiggle away, the critter pulled forward in a harder fashion. Sonny felt water streaking down her face, she wasn't about to leave her sister behind, but those squirrels just wouldn't let go!

The candy-maker had never seen the squirrels act like this before, even towards the Oompa Loompas, the ones who fed and took care of them. How desperate they looked to bring the girl back, still struggling to get back towards the chute that had swallowed her sister.

She pushed some squirrels away when they all managed to move closer back to the stairs that lead to where all the other guests were, watching as she leaded on one step with a look of pure sadness on her face. The squirrels were circled around her, prepared if she tried to go down the chute again, a few squirrels were even offering her their nuts (that did not sound right) to cheer her up. She just looked down, her eyes going darker than before.

She heard footsteps behind her, "Little girl, it's not right to sit on the floors of someone else's abode." He had said that in hopes of getting a smile, let alone a giggle, but she didn't say anything. She was barely moving anymore. "You also shouldn't throw yourself down a chute that isn't yours. Or scratch the floors the Oompa Loompas worked hard to polish. There are a lot of things you should've been doing, huh?"

When he heard her let out a breath, he could have jumped for joy, but instead he heard an ill-favored, humorless laugh. "My little sister was_ attacked _by squirrels, not only that but touched all over in highly inappropriate places by them, tackled and held down, and then thrown down a chute that leads to a place when little girls like her don't deserve - at _least_ by far - to go. And you have the _audacity _to tell me about the things I shouldn't be doing, worrying about your _stupid_ floors and your _dumb_ stairs! Not a - _Oh are you all right, Alison? Are you upset that your little sister just went down the garbage chute? Would you like some help finding your sister? _But _no. _All you _bloody_ seem to think about is your factory!"

Sonny never felt some aggro before in all of her life, by the man she idolized, at that. Her shoulders shook slightly while she wiped her tears away, "What kind of balls-up person are you?" New tears replaced the old ones. "Are you really such a joke that God is playing on people, just to prove that worlds like your factory don't really exist, and that world is terrible as we know?"

She could have sworn she saw mike half-smiling at her little outburst, and now noticing it, Sonny had stood up on her tiptoes she was right in Mr. Wonka's face. And he was leaning back, startled by how cruel and onyx-like her eyes had gotten all of a sudden. This was one of the main reason he stayed clear of women, they frightened him when they were mad. It was different with Sonny, because each time those words came out of her mouth, more tears came out. She wasn't completely angry, it seemed.

She took a step back, turning her face away with red splotching over her pale cheeks, her eyes almost hovering to the hole that was mocking her and the squirrels still watching her. She sniffled, sucking in a deep breath, "C-could you just have an Oompa Loompa show me to where the incinerator is, please?"

He swallowed silently, not knowing what to say. He didn't want her to go, he wanted to her stay so he could finish the tour and she and him could congratulate the winner at the end. He wanted her to be there with her dark eyes twinkling and a smile that he felt as though he didn't see often enough. He just stood there frozen with a lump in his throat, recalling where at the beginning of the tour that when the fat one - something Gloop - had stopped him in introductions, that he had thought about comparing their sizes. She was no fatter than the Gloop boy. In fact, it was quite the opposite, because she had wallflower face with curvaceous comeliness. He took in her appeareance one more, only clad in an oversized sweater and a pair of boots with a heel on either one. At her shoulders were her slightly curled dark brown locks, only a tint lighter than her sister's and lightless eyes that were more piercing than his own violet ones. Where his complexion was stony, her pale skin was a soft milky white. Her pink, strawberry lips were in a frown - something like a frown, maybe completely different as it expressed her sadness. She had a silver star hanging round her neck, right on top of what he would blush to admit he couldn't avert his eyes now up close. She was most certainly no Augustus Gloop. He felt something he never felt before and he did not like it if she couldn't be here.

He opened his mouth to say something but Sonny just shook her ehad with a forced smile, "I only came here to chaperone my little sister when she got her prize. I really don't think there's any other reason to stay here now," her words were going through him like frozen icicles falling around him, about to crush his perfect, fluffy world - a world that Sonny didn't think she believed in anymore.

When they made it back up the stairs, back to the remaining guests, an Oompa Loompa tugged the hem of Mr. Wonka's waist coat. He knelt down and tried to sound positive after the little man spoke into his ear, "Oh good. I've just been informed that the incinerator's broken, so there should be about three weeks of rotten garbage to break her fall."

"Well, that's good news," Mr. Teavee said sarcastically, leading Sonny to believe that his son took after him.

Mr. Wonka spoke down to the little man, "I want you to take Miss Alison to the incinerator, 'kay? Help her find her sister."

He turned to Sonny, who instead of curstying or saying she had a wonderful time or that she would treasure each waking moment she had in the same breathing space by the great chocolatier inside his marvelous own little world, just gave him a curt nod before following the Oompa Loompa.

Mr. Wonka just watched her leave and said enthusiastically with a slight smile, "Well, let's keep on trucking," He looked up again. Alison Salt had officially left the residence.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Since recently, I have received a review from someone named The Hoard who I thought must have really hated me to review so out-there like that, but when they said that it helped them when any people like them reviewed their stories, I believed them. I was caught up whether or not I wanted to close the story down, but I decided against it, instead I'm going to try and stay on topic more and get the point without giving away too much! I'm not going to cry anymore, because that won't get me anywhere, and if I keep trying, I'm bound to get some people to like me. They will always be people like The Hoard out there, and though they're only being helpful, I'll just have to live with it. .org/wiki/List_of_British_words_not_widely_used_in_the_United_States go to this link to understand the slang.

BTW: Everything but Alison 'Sonny' Salt and other characters you have even heard of are mine. Warning : everything will be very cliché! Also I might have borrowed some names, and if you see them and realize they're yours, I'm terribly sorry I can't remember your name but I'm not the most imaginative person so please, please forgive me!

**Chapter Nine**

When she had stepped off the stage with a gold-encrusted diploma at the top of her class during her high school graduation, she felt as though she were a new person. High school had given a new view on things on - that if you worked hard and always did your best with the greatest effort - everything would eventually shift your way.

Bollocks.

She had worked hard, given up the one thing she loved absolutely more than anything and just when things started to move towards her more brilliant than she ever could have imagined, like a moving-staircase in _Harry Potter_, it shifted again.

The factory had showed as sort of downy cushion for her to land, but when that cushion - the feathery and soft she wanted to lay on for hours - swallowed up the people that mattered, she dived in after them, and then things started to shift again. Suddenly squirrels would go after, desperate to save you after determining something you didn't understand. And then, you ended up where Sonny was right now, one of the lower parts of the fluffy cushion, away from the rest of the world, search for your sister through piles and mounds of bile.

She saw that things had to change for the better, that aside from the extravagant boat rides and minty meadows, away from the inventions that could revolutionize common-pattern baldness and saving money on food in case the world went into a gridlock, pushing past everything else - there was nothing. The world inside was just as cold as the world outside, dreamlands were everything and anything was possible didn't exist. It was a scrutinizing and bleak way to look at it, but it was the truth.

She was going to pick herself up and not make any more mistakes with no parallels, no comparisons. Entirely new with no name, she was positive. It came purely as ever when she saw a moment to start over.

All she wanted to do now was enjoy her flight to Northumberland, eyeing the home she was leaving out her window. She looked away, not daring to see the factory she had left along a few two weeks ago. She was going to punctuate her visit back with all of these emotions, she couldn't help but wonder if her parents were regretting letting her go, even if it was just for a while; Mrs. Salt wasn't her usual self when she had found out about what had happened at the factory; Mr. Salt was even worse, trying to spoil his Sonshine rotten for what she did, even though she had told she simply acting on impulse of an older sibling. Even Veruca seemed discontent, mostly with the countless bathes to get rid of the maggots in her hair, but no less unhappy, as well.

No, she kept telling herself, she had to enjoy herself. It was her moment to start again, after studying her metalloids and noble elements to pass time when she couldn't just lay awake every night, staring at her diamond-speckled ceiling, the events always replaying over and over again.

She shook her head again. New start, she reminded herself. New time. She smiled widely when her friends greeted her at the airport, after the Customs official eyed her warily when she came in smiling and then promptly after taking her bag apart only to find festering and expensive-looking clothing and gifts, let her run off into the arms of her friends, ready to burst forth at her welcome back party. She knew her friends from the Smeaths family as well as she knew her parents' snobbish friends, and immediately her spirits rose, as everybody pecked either of her cheeks.

It was laughter and smiles worth coming back for, she knew.

They had all been there with her from high school, when one of Sonny's dearest friends, Tory Smeath, met her on the beach on one of her richer relatives on a hammock in Merseyside. They had cried and cheered up at trivial and hopeless things, and after trying on each other's clothes and buying a bottle of wine at Mr. Salt's expense, the two of them kept in touch, especially after Sonny upped herself to a posh secondary school in her sophomore year in Cheshire, she met with Tory again and under secret circumstances and the outlandish approval of her Father - who saw Tory and her family from the slums as ignorant people of mockney folk that cursed and spoke loudly in public, thinking the only person he could have a decent conversation with is Tory's older sister, Daphne, an up-and-coming newly wealthy woman - Sonny had been close ever since.

But Sonny wasn't herself. She smiled and accepted all the hugs, all the pats on her back from the friends who couldn't be there during her acceptance ceremony for De Montfort, rolling her eyes now and then at Tory's pride and gloats about her Sonshine (a nickname for her) was the best. But it seemed as though she was just going through the motions. Tory then started to wonder if she was looking for a sign, something she couldn't find with them or even at De Montfort, or in Buckinghamshire.

Tory realized that Sonny was going to stay in this funk all the way through her majoring in Illustration and painting if she didn't something. She strode away from the people in her brother, Derek's, queen-size bed where everyone was eating pineapples from a bowls of fruit with chardonnay (one of the gifts Sonny had bought back from one of her trips accompanying her Father to one of those exotic countries he loved), she followed her friend to the lavatory.

She found Sonny leaning with her arms stretched out across the edge of the clean sink, looking down at her feet, her hair slumped over her eyes and face.

"Becky said I should leave you alone, that I was annoying you," Tory closed the door quietly behind her, leaning on the fluffy navy robe hanging on the back of the door. When Rebecca, with the dark splotches of cosmetics around her eyes and her white lips always trembling with her cigarette, was hovering defensively around the person who came from a snobby society of people she loathed, Tory knew something was up.

Sonny looked up, her hair falling away from her dark eyes, she tried to smile. Tory stepped closer when she shook her head, plastering a silly smile on her face, her cheeks aching. She never fake-smiled around Tory, it never went down that way, because she smiled harder, laughed her loudest, and snorted her gluttonous arse off.

"Not at all. On the contrary, I'm the one who is truly being rude. I'm sorry."

Another thing was, that Sonny got to burp and let her stomach growl for as long as she liked around her and her friends. She was told by Rebecca from day one to drop the snotty-patooty accent with articulation, and speak like some one was making fun of a foreigner. And she'd been doing so ever since.

Despite the assuring, Tory felt a look of genuine sadness cross of her eyes. "You wanna go home, don't you?" When she was down-graded to Northumberland by her frantic number after her flat burned down in Cheshire while she and Sonny were on the tube, ready to get home, it nearly crushed her spirit to think that her Sonshine wouldn't be here anymore. She used to think that without her, days without Sonshine were…like night. She was never the poetic type.

"I haven't…I didn't really say…I haven't made up my mind yet," Sonny saw the tortured pensive look in her friend's eyes. She just wanted to drape her arms around her friend's shoulders till that look was replaced with her bright twinkle.

"You've been staring out the window all night," Tory said softly. She had seen hadn't seen what her friend had seen, but she could guess. Glazed over at the structure in the darkening sky, it was getting jeweled, twisting and turning and from where Sonny had taken a seat, it was starting to look more and more like a face; it was unaccountable, it was human, but the beautiful kind of human - the kind you'd hear about fairytales - and the face was refusing the stay banished from her mind, with the prettiest amethyst gems for eyes.

"You're not staying for a while?" It wasn't a question, rather a fact.

"I thought a visit might…," Sonny trailed off, she had never gone to her friends just for a simple visit before, because when she was stuck in De Montfort or Buckinghamshire, all she seemed to think about was getting together with her friends and just talking like they used to, as though Sonny hadn't left.

"It's my fault, though," Sonny was saying, "I left in a hurry - I wasn't thinking straight - but it really is great to see you,"

Tory felt she couldn't be angry. She saw that Sonny was drawing back from everyone a bit, spending a lot of time working on new sketches and turning them into paintings with finely designed colors and details, drinking more tea than the average English person, reading about dream books and researching Zen Buddhism, about the same time she started to look for answers and symbols of something.

"I had thought," Tory said slowly, "you had changed your mind…"

Tory had dreams. More rather - _ideas_. She couldn't help loving everything Sonny loved, even her snobby little sister, who she had to admit seemed like a younger version of her friend with blue eyes and lighter hair - Sonny could be as narcissistic as she wanted to be, and she's seen her do it before, and it was not the bets sight - more to the point, she and Sonny would joke about seeing the world, even Sonny has the world countless, Tory said it'd be different when you're not alone. The Salt parents didn't approve of the slum girl Sonny had taken a shine to as a companion, and when they thought that Tory might influence to do some things their daughter might regret, they were right. Tory wanted Sonny to take a good look at her life and say to herself honestly that it was terrible, and then that she'd let Tory take to any country she'd like.

Sonny knew the story well, even without hearing the words or the flashbacks in her fair-haired friend. "Sorry, I haven't changed my mind yet."

"I know," scowled Tory.

Walking past Sonny, she climbed into the empty but clean bathtub and smiled goofily, hugging her knees at the breeze that came through the tiny window. Sonny knew that gesture anywhere, and she already knew her answer, she didn't want to talk about it. As a gentlewoman, people like her were supposed to have weakness but just not show them - one of their main ones were their money. Sonny didn't know what hers was, maybe it was her little sister being through down a garbage chute, being attacked by squirrels, pulled out by squirrels - she didn't know. She felt too ashamed, so sitting on the ledge of the tub, Tory placed her large hand over Sonny's.

"Men troubles, maybe…?"

Tory was that endless friend who pestered you about your dating and love life. She couldn't say _personal life_, because she _was_ practically her life when she wasn't away at university. Even holistic and good-spirited, child of the universe Tory didn't expect Sonny to be driven and focused.

Sonny sat better on the thin edge, bringing her knees up to her chest, as she saw the ugly mounds of fat jiggle as she did, her forehead on her knee. "I am no mood, Doctor Phil."

She never doubted her courage on certain things, like when she had went to Cheshire for school and secretly shared a flat with Tory for the first half of the sophomore year, she managed to evade everything else until her Father found out, she took it pretty well. Tory often gloated about her ability to face the difficult (that and her money) and said it inspired her in her majoring in finance to keep her clientele afloat with their money. Sonny didn't know why she was kidding herself, hugging her knees tighter, she was running farther away.

"You know, Sonshine, you really aren't that type. You'd face whatever this is….or whoever this is…against everything else. You can be the one who make the decision to, nobody else's. You're really strong like that, ahead on type of girl."

"Thanks, Tory," Sonny took a peek at her friend, "I wish things were that simple."

Tory pretended to have not heard the last part, even though she whispered it. She started to stand on, crossing over her friend's figure. "I'll go get some juice."

Tory didn't know how to answer, to be perfectly honest. She has only been through what Sonny was going through once, and that time, it wasn't something to cry about. She locked herself away from the rest of the world for a moment but she felt back and prouder than ever after spending days and nights sitting in her loo in her bathrobe. She felt that she could have been concerned if her friend was keeping something from her, but she didn't know to describe this sort of problem, even in her head as she tried to think it out while she poured to glasses of orange juice.

When the door opened again, Sonny looked up too enthusiastically, half-hoping to see purple or mauve, her heat sank with all its hope disappearing when she saw her thirteen-year-old friend Christien standing there.

He was the son of Daphne, he had arrived early to her party of two with her and her boyfriend, but how she managed to keep him and make a go at it still made Sonny marvel at it, considering that the Smeath family was already big enough and that after Christien was born, Daphne had had the best of luck. Somewhere after Christien was a year old, Daphne's baby's father became the rightful owner to an enterprise, and Daphne now owned half of it, so recently she has been getting more involved with it. The last Sonny must have seen Christien was when was maybe ten-years-old, she had gotten a postcard from the United Arab Emirates, at the shopping capital of the world; Daphne was a very hands-on parent, she took her son everywhere with her.

He blinked his brilliant gray hues at her, and Sonny couldn't help smiling, opening her arms wide when the boy buried himself under her neck. "You've gotten big…" she cooed, taking in his scent of Ivory soap and fresh spring water.

"Alison, you've been so green since the party started, do you feel all right?"

She blinked twice, before nodding with a forced laugh, hoping he wouldn't notice. "Yes, I've just been under the weather, is all."

It wasn't fine, far from it, as she had under the weather for a while now - since two weeks ago, more like it. Ever since Veruca went down the garbage chute in Willy Wonka's factory and not only that but she had to leave - not after calling him foul names, that is - she had been more depressed than she had ever felt in her life - maybe even more than when she was younger and all she wanted to do was eat. It was worse now, because she couldn't eat a single piece of candy without reminding herself what had happened, she couldn't doing without filling herself up. The last two weeks had been terrible, all things from piano to drawing, she found lifeless and no longer meaningful.

Sure, she was okay, just that being under the weather had sucked from day one.

She couldn't forget the moments she had with him, though, as they had been scratched and craved into her mind forever. She wanted those moments of fun and wonder to _be_ forever.

She couldn't comprehend it, as he had let other things happen to those horrid children and he did nothing, and when she had dived down the chute, she expected him to follow or at least for him to say _some_thing.

She gloomed onto Christien tighter, not knowing it herself before she felt him struggle to breath against her till he stopped fidgeting and just let the Salt child lock her arms around him lanky frame, moisture trickling down his spiky hair.

. . .

Willy Wonka sat staring at the fireplace, for the past two weeks, he had been unusually quiet. Everybody had taken notice when he wasn't smiling as much, as his words were starting to make less and less sense - though that was not as surprising as it seemed from another perspective. His giggles sounded forced, and he'd spend his free time in the Inventing Room at odder than usual hours, not even doing anything but staring at his latest and greatest inventions, the ones he suddenly didn't want to finish.

He didn't understand it. A week ago, when that big-eared boy named Charlie Bucket had won the best prize yet - his entire factory - and refused because of his family, he managed to meet with Charlie and after convincing him to two conditions, he repeated his offer - only this the entire Bucket family could come with him.

Things should have been good, as Willy realized that he wasn't alone anymore, but after the first week, things started to change. He'd pick at the perfectly-fine food Mrs. Bucket put out in front of him, he'd have his elbows on the table, and not even Grandma Georgina's words of hogwash and baloney could make his smile. When they asked him what was wrong, he just mumble barely anything that would be considered an answer.

"Willy? Would you like some tea?"

Recently after an awkward reunion with his father, he had been going over a lot more often whenever he found the time, especially since his melancholia started to set in. Dr. Wilbur Wonka seemed to understand better, even what he didn't.

He nodded a yes when his father with two warm cups and handing one to a dazed-looking Willy, he sat down in his recliner and took a silent sip. When he lowered the cup from his lips, he looked at his son's eyes.

"The fire seems fascinating, doesn't it?"

Willy's head snapped up at the question, and he absentmindedly nodded, sipping the nasty-tasting stuff. "Huh?"

Dr. Wilbur eyed his son for a moment. He was used to his spacey attitude towards things that weren't chocolate or candy in general, but he didn't think he had ever seen a time when his own Wilbur J. Winston Wonka the Second seemed so incoherent that it didn't seem funny anymore than it usually was.

Meanwhile, the famous chocolatier was too preoccupied in his thoughts, replaying what had happened the day that wart girl had gone down the garbage chute - he had never seen anything more scarier, that look of infuriation in the wart's sister's eyes - how he was starting to wish he could remember her name! hoping it was not anything that was a wart of any kind, all he could recall were, her lightless eyes. He had seen baby blues, been rejected and ridiculed by emerald ones and brown ones, but the lightless ones she had - such a rarity, he thought, punctuating his upbeat attitude again only to sink lower into his chair.

The dentist's ears perked when he heard his son mumble under his breath, and the dentist took another sip of his tea, "Willy, what I have told you about mumbling? Hm?"

Like son, like father.

"Now," the dentist put down his cup of tea, seated sternly before softening his expression at the look on his son's face. "Let's see what the damage is - what was this about not knowing what to think? And what about?"

While wondering about his old man's hearing, he sighed, not wanting to put up a fight. If he led it to his father, he practically knew everything that went on, as he was the heart and the senses of his home - young Willy couldn't remember a single time that nothing but silence went by and his father would look up from his newspaper and ask, "What's this about you breaking that glass?"

Hesitating, he put his tea down and a nervous squeaking releasing from his latex gloves, a nervous habit he obtained from his father. "I don't get it…," he was still mumbling to himself.

"Willy," the father said sternly.

"I feel like…it should be simple, but it's not….," the chocolatier babbled onto himself, as if he didn't hear his father.

"Willy," the dentist was losing his patience.

"I guess that Oompa Loompa was right - candy _is_ the only thing that I find that makes simple sense, except it's not simple…and this isn't, either…"

"_Willy_," he was hissing through his gritted teeth. The chocolatier looked up, a confused look on his pristine face, "You say something, Dad?"

The father sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers, counting to ten. He wasn't going to let his son's natural stupidity ruin their father-son moment, it had only been a while since they had started seeing each other and again, already…Relax, Wilbur, he was telling himself, just think about numbers - let the steam leave you.

He looked up at his son again, "Is it a girl?" Was the first thing out of the old man's mouth and color tinted the chocolatier's cheeks, already clenching and unclenching his fists, trying hard not to lose control, if he had any left that is:

"Why does everything keep saying that? First Wendell, even Doris was saying so! What in the right of sugar would make people think so…!"

So much for control, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Dr. Wilbur smiled slightly, taking his tea back, watching his son try to remain nonchalant when he asked: "Do you think about this…person often?"

"Kinda, yeah…but only since recently! Just then, that's all!" he was hasty to add.

The dentist bobbed his head from side to side slightly, "How recently? Try to give a date - a number?"

"I dunno - since the Contest,"

"Was she one of the winners of the ticket?"

"No…," Willy trailed off. His father took a glance at him from behind his tea, "But you would have liked her to be,"

"Well," he was hesitating, "I'm glad Charlie won and all - but - well, yeah -"

The dentist held his look, stopping his son, "What do you think she has been up to since the last time you saw her?"

"I can't really say nothing," explained the chocolatier in a dazed tone, "Interacting with an invention yet to be perfected isn't nothing; jumping down a garbage chute to save her sister is not nothing; being attacked by a swarm of furry critters isn't -"

"_What_?" Was his son absurd? That was rhetorical?

"Wow, Willy," the father was impressed, "That's the deepest I've seen you get with anything that wasn't chocolate or candy, and really, you aren't a deep person - well, you are, you just don't let yourself be one."

"Do you think she is pretty?" The questions came again. "More for the matter, _is _she pretty?"

"Uh, I…," he was thinking, and he saw her dark eyes twinkle in wonder when she had first seen the Chocolate Room and the way she looked when she was flushing along with Charlie - deep red and pink looked good on her. "Yeah - yeah, she's real pretty."

"Do you anything inside your chest?" Asked the father. "Like a fluttering feeling?"

"Yeah!" The chocolatier looked astounded. "But - but! Sometimes it's not a fluttery feeling, sometimes I can that feeling from far away - I think it's her! Mine sounds - it doesn't really have a sound, more just a painful feeling that goes up to my throat and…"

The dentist held up a single hand, "I've heard enough - you're aren't sick, but your stomach must churn when you're around her, so that's normal."

"Normal?" The chocolatier did not want to be normal - he wasn't sure he could be.

"Yes," said Dr. Wilbur, "No damage whatsoever - just a crush."

Willy looked at his a father, "A -" but his father interrupted him sternly, "Yes, no damage at all. Just ask her out on a date, is all. Completely simple."

His son was hyperventilating at the thought, but he was starting to shed some light on something else, "Dad, her little sister went down the garbage chute in my factory,"

The man almost choked on his tea, "You threw a little girl down a rubbish bin?!"

"No, no! She got herself thrown in and well..," Not sparing the man the details, he sighed longingly just thinking about the wart girl's sister. "The point is, it's not possible! Besides why would I want to stand on dates, anyway! That'd be just disgusting from the thought - I need those for the candy!"

Still wanting to hear the tale, he said, "Not a food date for candy, you silly boy. It's the alone time you spend with someone, the common things like getting to know one another and such." His son stared at him. "If you would have not left, I could have explained this all to you once your braces were off,"

Willy mumbled to himself, "Don't remind me…"

"Don't mumble," the father said again. "Take her out to eat - a fancy restaurant, then maybe a theater to see a play - the park just to go for a work and do and talk about whatever you'd like. Are you following me, Willy?"

He wasn't, actually. He had heard of dates before, yes, but only the boys who didn't have headgear ever went on them. He never went out. He avoided people. People avoided him. It was normal. But to go out - out, out - away from his factory and into the world where people like Prognose and the filthiest rats of the world inhabited it - hr shuddered with a green tinge. "Isn't there any other way to go out, Dad?"

His father didn't him, though, much to busy explaining the process of a date which his son should have been listening to lessen the Q&A but as usual, was spacing out in his thoughts. He resisted rolling his eyes. "Willy, if the date turns out well, at the very end when you're dropping her off at home, on the porch of her house, you give her a kiss."

"HUH?!"

But he was already forced out, his father just smiling stupidly and saying many goodbyes, ignoring his son's shudder at the sudden touch and struggling and fussing to leave, wanting to know what his father had meant. But nearly tripping down the stairs, he walked back to the Great Glass Elevator and sighed, holding back disgust at the thought, he had have to get back to work quickly.

Work seemed dull compared to her strawberry lips, though.

. . .

Looking around at his surroundings once more, he swallowed a pint of spit, nervously trying to remain inconspicuous. Covering his eyes with his usual bug-eyed goggles, he made his way out of the factory after dinner with the Buckets and managed to slip out of the gates around nine in the evening. He was surprised, he had never seen the streets this empty, watching him breath in front of him, the gods of chocolate must have been watching over him.

Oh, how he hoped he was doing the right thing.

No, Willy, he was telling himself for the umpteenth time, it is for the best. He was doing the right thing, he was positive as he walked down the pavements, fingering what he held in his coat pocket nervously, he was.

It was a drastic measure, he knew, as he crossed over the streets of an unusually quite Buckinghamshire; he had only been here once, and he didn't remember it all that well. He sighed internally, what was the point of coming out here just to bimble around when you don't even know where to start?

Using the best of his memory from the Contest to his advantage, he found a large house, well-proportioned with windows and the mortar painted in various shades of white or black. He blinked under his goggles, this home was too big and out in the open for its good.

Glancing around, he saw golden gates and two barley-alert guards there, one of them clearly falling out of it. Turning his head back and forth, he walked around quietly, hoping that there weren't any dogs; he loved dogs, animals in general, more like it. Just that big dogs with razor-like teeth coated in drool and anger frightened him to the ends of the earth - and the fact that he, unlike a street walker, couldn't run in heels didn't help the situation.

There was no backing down now, he admitted to himself. In the back of the house, he found an old, flat ladder used for decoration on the wall, covered in vines of various flowers. He had already taken the chance to leave the factory, and he didn't do that for just anyone, that was true. Hesitating as he jumped up, starting to try and scramble his way up without making too much noise, he held back a grunt. He was ready to take any measure, he had already assured himself that too many times, he almost slipped through the random window with a thud.

It was pitch black as he resisted the urge to dust himself off. She just had to be some rich that her parents had to have a house this large, he ignored the thought as he tried to look around, slipping his goggles into his coat pocket.

He must have been in a kitchen, he eyed the expensive stove/oven and shrugged, it was just a guess.

About to turn his heel, without checking if the coast was clear, he feel something tug on him furiously and a warm hand went over his mouth, as he was pulled out of the kitchen into what seemed to be even worse darkness. Struggling to keep up, whatever was pulling seemed small, but larger than an Oompa Loompa and then he felt the warmth over his hand move and simply brush roughly over his cheek. It strung.

He looked around, eyeing the diamond-speckled ceiling, he processed that for a moment - he could do the same thing for the Chocolate Room, maybe even a line of tiny sugar-coated nerds and when it went dark, they lit up. He could call tehm BriteBites or - or -

"Why are you here?"

He blinked when that familiar voice went along his ears and he looked down, as the girl with the darkest eyes was clad in only a forming night gown the palest shade of crème and she appeared to have fleshed out more, her hair waving messily along her shoulders - what would he call that? Chocolate Sunset? Cocoa Rose? - and she was glaring up at him, the faintest twinkle in her eye.

"I - I - uh, well, you see…"

She cut him off, glaring further, turning her head away in a posh manner. "Save it. I wouldn't care either way. I just want you out of here."

She started to walk away, back towards her downy bed where a large silver book with a ribbon hanging from the inside rested on her pillow. Willy resisted to urge to grab her and hold her by the shoulders, shuddering at the thought, instead felt a lump in his throat. When the words did form, they came out in gibberish:

"Eh-wahted-too-saay-eh'me-sawrry-aboat -"

"I don't speak Loompish," came her reply, rather coldly.

She sat back on the bed, averting her face slightly adding to give a shadow effect, not bothering to look at his trembling mauve eyes.

She had just gotten back a few days ago, and after a fitting talk with her friends and her parents, she came to the verdict that she would stay home for no less than a few days before heading off to De Montfort once classes started again. Already having begun to plan to immerse herself in work and keep herself preoccupied to be away from chocolate and sweets in general, just when she was at a good place in her book, she had heard something coming from downstairs and she knew those glowing amethyst eyes anywhere.

Willy took a deep breath, trying to remain patient as possible. Patience seemed key with women. "What I meant is, I wanted to say I'm sorry about what happened and -"

She held up a hand, closing her eyes for a moment and rubbing her temples. Patience did not seem like enough with the eccentric candy-maker. "I won't sugarcoat this, Mr. Wonka,"

He frowned instantly at the acid on her words.

"I don't appreciate you sneaking into my home just to say this. No normal person would, because," she looked at him for a moment with open, pitiless eyes, "You are not normal. I don't know what you are. And I frankly don't care to find out."

Willy wanted to know more about her. He wanted to see her laugh, watch the glimmer of hope in her dark eyes, and smile at all the things and inventions he did.

"You wouldn't survive a second in my world; a world I always used to wish was more like your candy," she said. "Able to take my troubles away - to make me see that everything will be fine as long as I know it all can do so. The world will never be all fluffy and colorful like your factory. Everything is divided into black or white, no grays or middle ground - places like your factory don't exist, really. People are cool or arseholes, the situations good or bad. Everything - my friends, my life at school and at home, fall into each of the latter. To each one, there is only one rule."

She stopped herself, watching a certain chocolatier sink down to size at her icy tone, before she went on, knowing he wouldn't know the answer. "Do what ever you have to do to survive - and if to survive means I have not eat chocolate or sweets, or even try to look at your factory, then I am willing to take that measure, sir."

Willy didn't know what to say. He has seen many people - mostly women - avoid certain foods to lose something - often weight. They eventually caved, of course. But Sonny - the girl whose name evaded him - he didn't know what to think. She had on a serious face. She was truly prepared to push Wonka candy out of her life, if it meant her life would be much easier.

Was that all he was? A nuisance in her perfect life? He wasn't sure what it was, but he looked up again, still that faint glimmer in her eye was still there and he said out, very timidly:

"Do you want to stay here?"

She gave him a sour look, puckered her lips as though to make a hard decision, the answer was clear. "Yes. I'd like very much to say here."

Just as her hands almost touched the book, she felt a warm rag over her mouth and she blinked, a light-headedness in her mind, as colors started to go all around her. She kept hearing a song called 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds' in her head over and over, and with Sonny Salt thrown over his shoulder like a bag that went there naturally, he made his way back towards the kitchen before rolling his eyes playfully to himself, not noticing the young girl's eyes flutter when he murmured under his breath:

"Too bad."


	10. Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: **AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I'm BACKKKKK!!!!!!!! Moreover, what the hell have I been up to the past months or so?!?!?!? Well, you ain't gonna know, know why?!??! Well, you won't know that either. However, a lot has happened in my absence. Recently the death of the beloved King of Pop and I'd just like to say May Michael Jackson Rest in Peace; lord knows he will be missed because now he's in that Never-Neverland in the sky. Second: Billy Mays, whom I feel was killed by that new Shamwow guy who was I heard on The Soup beat up a hooker - no comment…biznitch you deserve it!! Huh, almost lost my cool there. Thirdly: It's summer and I'm bored. Fourth: I feel as though people tend to die a lot in the summer, which is supposed to be the happiest time, which I guess is still happy now considering that those who've passed on are now in a happier, better place so… - oh yeah, guess who didn't get left back?!?! MEEE!! I am moving up in the next grade!!!! YAHHHHHHH! Thank you, no, please, hold your applause, hey, you, in the blue, you better stand up and clap yo hands, fool. Anyway, on with the show.**

**BTW: **Thank you for the people who reviewed this story, I love you all, and if you do not understand any slang of Britain please go to .org/wiki/List_of_British_words_not_widely_used_in_the_United_States.

**BTW2: **See this symbol ©? That means that I own Alison "Sonny" Salt and any other characters you do not remember or even existed in the original work of Roald Dahl.

**Chapter Ten**

When Sonny Salt was called a chocoholic by Tory after telling her how she loved Wonka chocolate, she was still acting like an English prude round the easygoing blond, so obviously the thought that she took it well would be an over exaggerated understatement. In fact you would've found it hilarious the way she was fuming internally that I would have sworn that she was practically boiling over, pulling her shirt collar to let in some air, wondering whether or not she should just go off on the blonde or remain silent and try to comprehend the blonde's almost incoherent ramblings about what _she_ liked. (Oh, believe it, Sonny really _was_ a prude back then.)

It's understandable because usually when you are called a _-holic _anything, I won't lie and say that I wouldn't freak out and try to resist the need to strangle whoever said that and made such an assumption while most likely going into denial about what I was addicted to. Then again, this is not about _me_, it is about Sonny.

Still, when you're called that and you happen to be a gentlefolk, bluntly speaking it isn't the best of things; why, in fact, it is downright terrible because you get kicked out golfing clubs till you have either cured your addiction or manage to sly your way in, whichever comes first. Or, in the case of younger gentlefolk, you might be reduced to tears at the sniggers of gossip from the girls in Chanel swimsuits sitting by the pool, whispering about how much your figure has changed or how you looked. It is a dreadful thought, by simple terms.

The blonde Smeath girl was not budging, her flightiness yet to kick in. This was budding behavior, both of an actress in the making and the best friend you could ever have. With her arms over her thrown-back head, snug on the hammock, she popped open one eye, twinkling.

"I say it's a good thing," she said. "You're super fudge, love, to something that's all your own. Your Jack Daniels. Your Paris to Nicole. Your Taco to your Chihuahua. Your exact type of heroin." You can also imagine how Sonny felt at that one, _now she's practically saying I do smack. _"I'm _positive_ it's a good thing, a lucky one who is able to find what they love so easily and still able to let the goodness of this world shine through. You're one of the lucky few. The few. The proud. The marines. Kudos to a water reference seeing as you're now treading water instead of sinking in it." Tory, never the poet, but is able to say one thing in a million ways; to her, repeating things the same way is stupid.

But you just had to believe how much faith Sonny was putting into that girl's words, because even she couldn't believe herself when she resisted smacking her friend across the forehead with her dangling foot and instead rolling her eyes. Tory sat up slightly, "Obviously everybuggy is drawn to Wonka's chocolates for many reasons, but I think you kept coming back for more than the sensation. And, as a chonus, you're one of the better looking ones who are chocoholics. If you catch my drift," Tory held out stretched open her arms, as if asking for a hug, to symbolize the size of some of those hardcore Wonkaholics.

_Tory's right, _Sonny thought, squirming round. Something _has_ been keeping her coming back for years now; it was something that she couldn't get at home, where her father was too busy to lift her onto his knee and tell her tales of the mysterious man who created the best candy and sugary treats in the world, where her mother was too hangover to talk about unmeltable ice cream, gum that never lost its flavor, and of chocolate birds that moved and sang like the real thing. The kind of feeling that some things in the world, like working and being an adult weren't as important as just sitting back and watching the clouds of chocolate roll by, _just inhaling the air and living your life_.

_So live your life (Hey, ayy, ayy, ayy)…_

_Huh? _Now, correct me if I'm mistaken, but how _exactly_ did Rihanna get involved into this story? Not saying that Sonny wasn't a fan of her, of course, she had her pick of American singers and needless to see that she was one of her favorites. Not only was it rather odd that Rihanna was telling her to live her life, but why she was coming to Sonny in her…sleep, was it?

_You steady chasin' that paper - Just live your life…_

_OK, now it's getting kind of repetitive… _Sonny had that same feeling I think the rest of us get in the morning, when you're just starting to gain some conscious if you tend to be a heavy sleeper like she had slept through the Cold War, but Sonny was a champion sleeper. _Am I squinting? _It didn't feel like it to her. _God, do I have dejabrew? _Sonny should have known that if she was drinking an excessive amount the previous night that it still wouldn't have _this_ kind of effect on her, unless she ended doing something embarrassing, but no, she almost couldn't feel her eyes.

_Ugh, my mouth tastes stale, _it had a kind of fuzzy and squalidly, making her wonder if she had failed to brush her teeth last night. More importantly, was it even morning? If it was, would someone send one of the maids for her if she was late for breakfast? What did eating food having anything to do with the fact that her vision, by the by, was almost like a busted flashlight was flickering back and forth to what she was sure what bright, white light and total oblivion.

She heard Rihanna again, and then someone else, a voice. Atypical and high-pitched, with what seemed like a drizzle of smug and improbable self-indulgence, all silvery. It was coming in and out of her ears:

In. "Yeah…" Out.

In. "Sorry…I was a bit preoccupied…" Out.

In. "You can't expect me to pick up on the first ring…" Out.

In. "It's common courtesy, it seems a _too_ little perky to pick up so quickly like you were just sitting there in the dark waiting for that call…" Out.

In. "Oh, come _on_, like, _like_, one time but only because I was worried…" Out.

In. "What do you mean you feel Rihanna's overreacted…?" Out.

In. "I live my life just fine…" Out.

In. "Well, it's better than Randall's; I got him some oldies…" Out.

In. "No I won't change it…." Out.

In. "Why would I want to hear Earth, Wind, & Fire when you call…?" Out.

In. "I'm not saying I don't enjoy your calls…" Out.

In. "No, already, anyway, like I said, preoccupied but I'm still on track…" Out.

In. "What do you mean you didn't think this wasn't a plan…?" Out.

In. "Oh, yeah, I enjoy pulling a B&E and it's my pastime…" Out. "Priorities. I've got priorities…"

The voice stopped mid-sentence, mouth still agape as he was speaking into something pressed into his ear - a mobile phone? - as his eyes ran over what was still wrapped in what looked, well, I'd rather not say because this _is_ technically a children's story, though I _do_ suppose we crossed the line when our chocolatier broke and entered.

From how she seemed to be having a hard time fully coming back to the room, it was obvious that her sides were aching, and from how lighter her eyes were looking it seemed that the dose what he had given her had worked to some extent. However let's not tell Sonny that until we've gotten back into her mind.

Speaking of which, she looked disoriented. _Gadzooks, I'm sure she feels like a boulder has been dropped on her, _he thought. _Almost like a paper doll, maybe even dropping a pebble on her shoulder might cause her to collapse. _And he was right; the girl looked like neither a mental nor conscious bearing of her surroundings. Like a confused cat, _though I haven't ever heard of a confused cat much less a curious one._

What he said about her seemingly not having a mental nor conscious bearing of her surroundings was true…for the next few seconds. Then, with sand in her eyes, she remembered what has happened and realized her surroundings the same way you don't decide to never go back to McDonalds just because they forgot your fries.

She adjusted her sight and she saw the events of the previous night again.

Now, for the sake of the silence, I suppose I should do a recapitulation of what happened only a few hours ago. As you all recall someone broke and entered and then someone was knocked temporarily unconscious, now of course she's awake. You'd think what knocked her out would have lasted much longer, but then again you do not know how much time has passed and what has happened in that time.

"Mr. Wonka," Sonny was raised to regain her composure rather quickly. She didn't sound the least bit mad, but not necessarily happy to see him either.

In fact, as he lowered the phone from his ear, he did a double-take of her. Her eyes were coming back to lightness and there was some kind of glint that was perhaps sinister anger or something else, he wasn't sure _what_ that was but it didn't sound too good.

He had taken off his jacket, to reveal a periwinkle button-down with the same _W _right at his neck. He could feel himself burning up, the room already hot enough, but Sonny seemed to be pushing off her so-far negative energy of the situation and now he was suffering from a heat-stroke. He swallowed.

Did you know that when people are stuck in a life-threatening or impossible situation with no realistic plausible means of escape (much like now) they sometimes ask themselves what would So-and-so do? Well, in this case, even Mr. Wonka was asking himself that - what, by all means, _would_ Willy Wonka do?

"H-How do you do?" That was a bland finish. He could only see what would happen next, but with panic overwhelming and the heat and the obvious look on Sonny's face (which will be left for you to imagine) what other choice did have but to try a paradigmatic mean of greeting?

Sonny made her next sentence sound like something a demented person might say. One that overly too happy. "Oh, simply _marvelous_! Except for harboring a criminal in the area like this - direful, chancy gist, wouldn't one so say?" Her enlivenment was frightening synthetic. And it wasn't hard to miss that she had just practically called him a criminal and that being in the same breathing space as him is dangerous. _It isn't as though I'm a diseased dog, _he thought sourly.

By all means, though, Sonny was the one who seemed to be giving off broodiness.

"Which reminds me," his head almost snapped at the suddenness which her voice had started up again, "because it is _obvious_ that weren't _dragged_ here, then, pray tell, you must have had a _reason_ for coming _despite_ the fact that it is clear that you aren't wanted, yes?" Her feigned innocence was saccharine all over, and very menacing.

He was panicked, only able to expose some of his flawless, blindingly alabaster teeth in some attempt to smile, although what he was wearing looked similar to the same look on his face when that Beauregarde girl was turning blue.

He took a deep breath. "Because," he tugged softly on the collar of his shirt, "I wanted to see you, I believe we had established that earlier on -"

"And you probably _insisted_ that I'd be taken along the ride, eh?" She was tilting her head, cocking a brow, as if challenging him to say more. _Daring_ him to say more.

Sonny blinked, taking in her surroundings, now realizing that they weren't as bright as before. It was almost dim, more like it. If she'd give the chocolatier a chance to explain she would have realized, and by that second she did, that she was still in her room. She hadn't even left the Salt residence.

That's right. All this was happening in her own room, although personally I'm wondering why she hasn't looked up and saw that her diamond-speckled sky was a huge hint. Nevertheless, moving along, Mr. Wonka was saying in a placating tone:

"Well, if it weren't for _you_, I wouldn't have come. You see, I've got other _important_ things to do." Even I, the narrator, doubted that what he had to do back at the factory wasn't _that_ important. "You know, back at the factory, by the by. Ergo, my famous,_ unsurpassed-chocolate-in-the-whole-universe_ propagating factory."

_Such a berk_, she thought with her eyes rolling all the way up to the diamond-speckled ceiling. She blinked when he said, "And if you need a vacation from my candy so badly, why don't you take one?" He went on. "As a matter of fact, it's not as if you can't afford to just take a vacation."

"Sadly my own important things to do need to be taken care of, thank you very much. Your cark is _stirring_." She gave an artificial, contemptuous smile.

Mr. Wonka looked down at his mobile, which was still flipped open and between his fingers gingerly though he barely heard any Loompish on the other line. He had been trapped in this room with her for maybe over more than the time he had climbed through the window of the kitchen, three hours at best, max. he didn't mean for it to play out like this, though, because while he was practically cheerily popping along with Sonny - still unconscious and unfazed by his Beatles ringtone for Wendell - thrown over his shoulder like a bag his smile of accomplishment froze when he heard someone else - presumably a maid - enter the kitchen before him and in a moment of silent yelping, managed to back up the stairs to her room. After violently texting a message of assistance to Wendell and forgetting to pick up the first few nine times he was speaking with him right about when the eldest salt child had woken up.

To say it's been a long time for him would have been an understatement, sort of like saying that Pattie Heart _just_ helped her kidnappers rob a bank, that's all. Or like saying that The Joker _only_ blow up Gotham General, no biggie.

He counted in his head, slowly. He was going have to start simple now, if it meant he could get out of this house.

Honestly what is going inside sonny's head has many words that even I don't know, and mind you, I was in narrating college for four years and I even got my LPN making me a licensed practical nurse for two years and I still wouldn't able to describe the thoughts running along her head. And just to bring this to your attention, it's obvious that Sonny isn't an angry girl but because she's mousy and tends to keep her emotions all bottled up she might end up spitting up blood because all of that quietness and not saying your feelings takes out on a lot on the psyche. She could be having a breakdown for all we know.

But she did look up, reluctantly, when Mr. Wonka begins, candidly, "a vacation _would_ prove to be a very sensible choice on your part right about now." He agreed, silent for a few seconds before looking up and smiling widely. "So would you like to come back with me to the factory?"

_He must be joking, _was all Sonny was thinking, one of her comprehendible thoughts in what has felt like a long while. Though Sonny, like me, avoids the topic of being another she - along with Tory - still had her boundaries and rules and considering that when she's away from Buckinghamshire she becomes the type of girl who has dumped petrol Slurpees and beers down on guys for something as simple as brushing against her at clubs or doing and/or saying something disrespectful to her. _I'm acting like an ignoramus. _As if no man has ever given her the offer of coming home with him, much less disrespect her and then get something shapeless and cold down their back, but without a response she was staring past everything else, searching for an excuse.

"You…you're asking me to come back with you to factory?" She was cocking her brows, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Yep!"

"…are you CRAZY?" She could almost feel her eyes shrink at the thought.

"Yep!"

_I hardly know him, _she was thinking that if by chance a policeman asked her to confirm the criminal in a line and they happened to asking her to do that with Mr. Wonka happened to be there she'd purposefully say that she's never seen before her in her life. But brusquely he was placing her in high regard? But after what happened and all that she had gone through, the grieving if you could call it that, and throwing little sisters down rubbish bins…_no, I don't think I'm ready to avow him, in spite of everything…_

"No." Reaching beside her, she tucked her comforter under her arms and looked over to see that underneath her pillow a corner of her book was sticking out. Picking up, she opened it and started on her kept page. It was _The Four Keys._

He was putting on his jacket with a wide smile as he pulled his arms through, adjusting the collar. "Splendid! I just knew it would strike your fa -" he froze upon realizing her answer, pulling back from reaching for his cane and inside now, for some reason, with one flogged hand in the outside pocket of his jacket he was starting to finger something there.

"…wait. NO?" He felt like he needed her to reiterate. He opened his mouth again, but no sound came out.

With her eyes closed now, Sonny didn't want to explain but the sooner she could get back to her book. "I don't like you. In fact, I don't think I can stand you. I'd rather be in the company of a rabid grizzly bear, to be perfectly blunt." She swung a large chunk of hair over her shoulder.

He slumped his shoulders, _try the bashful boy act! The Buckets love that!_ His violet eyes doubled to the size of what could have been called Angelic Eyes or, more commonly, The Wounded Puppy Dog Look. And believe me, he _was_ wounded. But he was yet to let his pride be KO'd. "But…but I -"

"No buts. Now leave me be."

_Plan B! Plan B! _He reached into his pocket and, surprisingly, pulled out a small bouquet wrapped up protectively in a white wrap, leaning out towards Sonny who looked up when he said, "Well…will you at least accept these flowers?"

Sonny put her book on her lap, leaning one elbow on it as she sighed, exasperated, tired, as she made a reach for the flowers. "Oh very well. But nothing more." It wasn't as though she hadn't received flowers before, many of the boys she had the misfortunate of seeing when she was to forced along to Bailey's Avery often turned out to be in cahoots with Mr. salt - but then again all rich people are connected in one way or another - and when they realize that she's just a phone call away they send her fields and barrels of all types of flowers: morning glories, petunias, roses, hyacinths, goldenrods, poppies and such. Usually she'd kept them alive and fed while throwing out their messages and greeting cards.

She glanced at the flowers. Immediately assailed by the scent, almost intoxicating but not at all overwhelming, the balance of the different fragrances was subtle and flawless; it looked orange blossoms…lilacs…freesia and maybe some roses. And then she heard a _gasp! _and she found herself doing a double-take as the flowers, all in a disarray looked at her with a horrified look and then actually proceeded to shriek in what sounded like high-pitched, miniature voices that kind of reminded her of Alvin and the Chipmunks, though they were much nicer:

"My goodness!"

"OH NO IT'S A _WEED_!"

"Oh, she's _hideous_!"

"Run!"

With the shocked look passing over as her eyebrows wiggled at their comment, she lowered them and gnawing on the inside of her cheek she narrowed her eyes as if say, 'is this what you find funny?' she was not fazed that Mr. Wonka could make flowers talk, much less insult her. Just about ready to throw them at him, the flowers released a pink gas and when she coughed, she was out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I know you, my caring reviewers, might have noticed a slight change in Sonny's personality. She was mild-mannered, at best, but now she has rather gone a bit bitter, wouldn't you agree, maybe even a little…salty? Well, you would you feel if your dog/sister/brother/social studies teacher/mom/dad/cat/grandpa/young adopted son David was thrown down a rubbish bin by supposed friendly wood creatures. Which reminds me, if you happen to be walking along some wood paths and a small group of consists of a Bambi-look-alike, a Thumper-look-alike and the works cross your path asking for Martinez's Client, tell him I will have his money as soon as I can get it. I'm also taking the idea for this chapter from Dreamland by Sarah Dessen. Read the book, it's beautiful.**

**BTW: I do not own the works of Roald Dahl, I do however own Sonny salt ©.**

**Chapter Eleven**

Veruca Salt was dreaming when she woke up suddenly to the sound of her mother screaming. It rang all along the spacious palatial mansion. She ran to her door, threw it open, and promptly tripped over her feet and whacked her face on a fancy hall switch. With an aching face and a bone to pick with her Mother for interrupting such a nice dream, she got to her feet and ran down the spiraling stair-case to the kitchen, finding the rest of the mansion empty as the maids hadn't even returned yet. She made her way to the kitchen where her Mother was standing against the stainless steel and shinning granite of the décor with something in her hand.

"I just don't _understand_ this," Mrs. Salt was shakily saying to Mr. Salt, who standing beside her in his pajamas with his reading glasses on. The coffeemaker was spitting and gurgling happily behind them, most likely turned on by the last maid to leave at five-something in the morning before coming back an hour later. It seemed like this was any other morning. "She can't just leave. She _can't_."

Mrs. Salt didn't normally sound so vulgar like this when she normally spoke. In fact she usually bore an air of cosmopolitan charisma and indolence, as a woman who was cosseted along with the every caprice of her and both her daughters. This was not normal.

"Let me see the note," Mr. Salt said calmly, taking it out of her hand. It was on Sonny's thick, monogrammed stationary with matching envelopes. It had her initials: SS.

Later, when Veruca managed to snatch it from the gossip cleaning ladies and send one off crying, she saw it was completely concise and to the point. Sonny was not the type to waste words.

_Parents,_

_I want you to know that I hope to be able to explain this well enough to you so that you'll understand._

_Please don't worry. _

_Sonny_

There was something considerably off; the _p _in parents was undoubtedly very shaky, as if she didn't want to write that word. And since when did Sonny ever refer her Mother and Father simply as parents? And the way she dotted her _i_'s andher_ y_'s and oddly her _w_'s. She hadn't even said she loved them; she always did.

Mrs. Salt wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked at Veruca, who instead of going into one of her browbeats stood silently away near the entrance of the kitchen watching. "She's gone," she said. "She went to be with _her_, I know it. How can she do this? She's supposed to be at De Montfort in three weeks."

"Angina," Father said, squinting at the note. "Calm down."

The "her" was Sonny's friend, Tory: She was twenty-one, had fair hair up to her chin, and lived in Northumberland in the slums somewhere with her hoodlum family and mother. Veruca knew that her mother worked on the _Jocky Jordanes Show. _It was one of those shock talk shows where people tell their boyfriends they've been sleeping with their best friends and guests routinely include Klansmen and eighty-pound four-year-old. It was a show that Mrs. Salt found amusing, and a show her father said she couldn't watch; it was where Veruca got most of her ideas where she had to teach so-and-so a lesson. Tory's mother's job mostly consisted of getting coffee, picking up people at the airports, and pulling guests off each other during the frequent fights that scored the show big ratings. Since she'd come home from their grandfather's beach house in Merseyside ten years ago - she'd met Tory there - sometimes while doing homework Sonny did it in front of the telly each day at 4 PM, wishing aloud for a good fight just so she could catch a glimpse of Tory's mother who occasionally had Tory help grab the other guest while she (the mother) dragged away the other. Usually she did, smiling at the sight of her charging with her mother onstage, her face serious, to untangle two scrapping sisters or a couple of rowdy cross-dressers.

Mr. Salt put the note down on the table and walked to the phone. "I'm calling the police," he said, and Mrs. Salt, uncharacteristically, burst into tears again, her hands rising to her face. Over her shoulder, through the glass door and over the patio left of the kitchen area, Veruca could see their grody gardeners, Clímaco and Rosendo. They were cutting through the tree line every now and then to trim up a lot of things; Rosendo was taking some of the flowers she had been instructed to plant and making a bouquet, bright and colorful, in her hand.

"I just can't believe this," Mrs. Salt said to Veruca, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the dinner table at the far end. She was shaking her head. "What if something happens to her? She's still a baby."

Veruca would have snorted if not for the circumstance of the situation; she, despite not being the best student in her prestigious school where it was more of a place for flaunting the goods instead of real education, knew for a fact that after you turn eighteen you were officially an adult. _I'm practically an infant, _she thought. She took that back, she hated small children.

"Yes, hello, I'm calling to report a missing person," Her Father said suddenly, in his official executive of Salt, Peanuts voice. "Alison Salt. Yes. She's my daughter."

Veruca had a sudden memory pop into her head: she must have been no more than eight or so, but she was still able to process a lot of things, and she remembered heading towards her room after having a maid walk her to the kitchen for a glass of water and then send her off with a wave of dismissal, nose up in the air haughtily when she saw Mrs. Salt standing in the doorway of Sonny's room, then already eighteen by then and ready to head off to De Montfort, then when her room had bright pink wallpaper and she had a bunk-bed that had an unoccupied top bed. Mrs. Salt would always kiss them goodnight, but after a while when Veruca kept dodging them she stopped and instead seemed to be spending a lot of time by Sonny's room. Veruca watched as Mrs. Salt was speaking quietly, too quiet to hear, with her eldest daughter and then she walked over to the girl who just finishing up some extra credit work and kissed her forehead, and then went back to stand in the doorway after turning off the light leaving the diamond-speckled ceiling to shine. Her shadow stretched down the length of room between them as Veruca watched. Mrs. Salt was always the last thing Sonny seemed to try to see before she fell asleep.

"See you in dreamland," Mrs. Salt would whisper, just loud enough for Veruca to decipher, and blow up a kiss before shutting the door quietly behind her and leaving Veruca to try and scurry off before she got caught. _Like dreamland is a real place, _Veruca thought as she lay in bed for a split second in darkness with a scoff. It wasn't as if it were tangible, where we would all wander close enough to catch glimpses and brush shoulders. For a while Veruca remembered going to sleep determined to go there and prove to her sister that it wasn't as great as it sounded, to find her and Mrs. Salt, and sometimes Veruca did. But it was never the way she imagined it would be.

Now her Mother sitting and weeping as her Father reported Sonny's vital statistics - five-four, deep brown hair, black eyes, mole on her right cheek - and Veruca had the sudden, slightly sickly sinking feeling that dreamland might be the only place they'd be seeing Sonny for a while.

Veruca heard a knock and made a face to look up and see Clímaco and Rosendo standing on the patio, waving merrily at them. They'd been their gardeners for as long as Veruca could remember, since before Sonny and she were even born. They were too chirpy and talkative, and sometimes Veruca wanted to smash their heads in. They believed in massage, one that the missis loved, fresh-baked homemade bread that was the only kind Sonny would eat and Veruca would die before admitting that it _was_ kind of addicting seeing as how it was so poor-looking and tasted so exquisite, and crazy Mexican gods. They had absolutely nothing in common with the Salt parents, except proximity, where Mr. Salt after taking a mutual shine to them had let they live and charge rent with the money he gave them (he was basically taking it back), which had to led to years of a good employer-employee relationship that kept them good friends.

"Good morning!" Rosendo called out to them through the door, holding the flowers for them to see. "Lovely day!" She reached down and pushed the door open, then stepped inside with Clímaco following. He was carrying a bowl and a plate, each covered with a brightly colored napkin, which he put down on the dinning table in front of Mrs. Salt. They had gone past formalities a long time ago.

"We brought blueberry buckwheat pancake mix and sliced mangoes fresh from the tree," Clímaco said in his rough voice, smiling at Veruca. "Your favorites." More like one of Sonny's latest addictions.

Rosendo was crossing over and, arms already extended, pulled Veruca into one of her long, emotional and tight hugs. She smelled of cinnamon and other ethic spices. It always itched Veruca's nose. But she had learned long ago not to try and pry herself away from the hugs until it was over. Sometimes she barely reacted to it anymore, maybe a side effect from what was currently happening.

"Today's a bright day, Veruca," she whispered into her ear. "This will be a special day. I can feel it."

"Don't count on it," Veruca sneered, and Rosendo, already used to the child's attitude, pulled back and frowned and about to tell her to brighten up, instead gave a confused look just as Mr. Salt hung up the phone and cleared his throat.

"Technically," he began, "they can't do anything for twenty-four hours. But they're keeping an eye out for her. We need to call all her friends, right now. Especially those Smeaths. Perhaps she told someone something."

"What's going on?" Rosendo asked, and at the table Mrs. Salt just shook her head. She couldn't even say it. "Angina? What is it?"

"It's Alison," Father told her, his voice flat. "It appears that she's run away." This was Veruca's father, always formal: He lived for _supposedly_ and _theoretically_, not believing anything without proper proof.

"Oh, my God," Rosendo said, pulling out a chair and yanking it close to Mrs. Salt before sitting down. "When did she go?"

"I don't know," Mother said softly, and Clímaco took one of her hands, his hand on her shoulder. They were touchy people, always had been. Mr. Salt, however, who didn't like smelly hippies touching his wife, was not, so neither made a move toward him. Mother sniffled. "I don't know anything." She and Sonny were just so close, that this came as a shocker. She ultimately knew everything about her from who was her favorite artist to the color of her socks.

"Veruca," her Father said to her briskly, "get a list together of her friends, anyone she might have talked to. And the number for that Danes show or whatever it's called. And be sure to ask for Smeath."

She knew better than to refuse because recently, since the whole Wonka incident, he had been refusing her a lot. When she asked - or rather pointedly demanded - a flying glass elevator, wherever she had gotten _that_ idea from, he had said that only thing she was getting was a bath because the girl reeked and she was in _desperate_ need of a tick bath. "Fine," she said, not bothering to correct him. He nodded before turning his back to his wife and Rosendo and Clímaco to look out across the wide patio at the few squirrels crowding the few bird feeders.

On her way to her room, Veruca turned the door knob and in Sonny's room she opened the nightstand drawer and picked up what she found inside. It was a book, nothing special, called _The Four Keys_, it read. As she moved past the cover she found an inscription in the little box that read who the book belonged to and Sonny's loop script, her name big.

_Sonny, _it said in blue ink, _forever in dreamland._

. . .

In pictures (many reluctant ones), Sonny and Veruca often wore matching clothes like the same parkas and gloves. Mrs. Salt thought it'd be cute to dress them alike, like twins, despite the fact that Sonny was somewhere between sixteen and eighteen and Veruca was six and eight. The height situation didn't make much more of a difference as one would have thought. They almost _did_ look like twins, with the same round face and eye shape and the same hair length. But with the dark eyes and shape and such they weren't the same, even then.

When Sonny was born Mrs. Salt still wasn't sure what to name her. You see, she had suffered terrible morning sickness and Rosendo, who was just starting to get on Mrs. Salt's good side, was spending a lot of time making her herbal tea that she hated and rubbing the Mother's feet which she loved, trying to make her force the occasional saltine cracker. Rosendo was the one who suggested Alison.

Now, Rosendo's choices leaned more to Cassandra while Mrs. Salt was more towards Alice or Mary; that was why she suggested Alison, because it was the diminutive version of Alice. But she tried to defend her reason of the name Cassandra, who was a seer and a prophet. Mrs. Salt liked that she had come to a horrible end, and had chosen that as the middle name. But she especially liked Alison, "It means of _noble kind _or _nobility,_" Rosendo told the Mother. "I'm not sure if Alice came to a horrible end and despite the on-off chances of going down rabbit holes what would be better than to have a daughter who knows her place in society and uses it to her advantage to make a living?"

So Alison it was and by the time Veruca came along, Mrs. Salt and Rosendo were something of best friends. Rosendo's mother's name was Varuka and she had a rather tumultuous relationship with her, calling her the "wart of her existence" and Mrs. Salt had to admit that it _did_ have a quite ring to it despite sounding like a "wart remover powder".

Veruca always thought that at some ways Sonny's name was cooler, but to be named as the sort of bane of one's existence was something special, so Veruca never complained. Her name was just one thing Veruca envied about Sonny. Even with their similarities it was the things they didn't have in common that Veruca was always most aware of.

. . .

Alison Cassandra Salt wasn't a seer or a prophet, at least not at eighteen. But she _was_ of nobility, and she did use it to her advantage. What she was, was student government president two years running, star right wing of the girls' lacrosse team (City Champion her junior and senior year), and Winter Snow Queen. She volunteered chopping vegetables at the homeless shelter for soup night every Thursday, had been skydiving three times in a row, and was famous in her prestigious secondary school for staging a sit-in to protest the firing of a popular English teacher for assigning "questionable reading material" - Toni Morrison's _Beloved_. Like many other times for being spotted by the paparazzi with her Mother or such she made the Cheshire news for that one, speaking clearly and speaking angrily to a local reporter, her eyes blazing, with half the school framed in the shoot cheering behind her. Mr. Salt, who managed to catch a bit of it, just stared and grinned.

There were only two times Veruca remembered seeing Sonny depressed. One was after her Father had been noticing some, erm, "changes" in her and said that he thought it'd be best for her to "keep it tight" which was another way of saying to slim down. She tried to get him to reiterate without being mean but instead he did the opposite, even calling her fat or chubby, and Veruca could see why; back then she _did_ have some jingly-jingly going on and though people were attracted to her personality her weight has always been something that Sonny seemed to take seriously. She had locked herself in her room for a full day, right about the same time she started to phone Tory and email her long gooey overemotional messages. She never talked about it again, instead just focusing on sliming down or at least getting her weight right to seem slimmer if you squinted and cocked your head. She succeeded, to some extent.

The second time was at the end of her sophomore year, when Tory was downgraded to Northumberland by her frantic mother after her (along with the Salt parents) found out that out of certain circumstances that she and Sonny had been secretly sharing a flat while in Cheshire and later while the parents were processing the decision of letting the two live the rest of their youthful days in that same flat where it, by some twist, was burned down and left the two of them back to their parents. Just lying to her Father was maybe the only unhappy thing she did to upset him which led him to blame the behavior on Mrs. Smeath's hoodlum family, who reacted strongly and - the whole thing was rather messy. Sonny cried two weeks straight because her Father cut all contact to the Smeaths, sitting in her bathrobe and staring out the window, refusing to go anywhere. After another week or so she started to draw again and after managing to get an application to De Montfort she remembers the plan she and Tory made and after she gets accepted somewhere near the end of her junior year bluntly tells her parents that she's going to continue her friendship with her because she was going to be a senior and that she had gotten accepted in De Montfort with some of the highest grades and that she only sought their approval. They didn't approval but if it kept her happy, they'd have to cope.

Before she had met Tory she was very young and very influential, as one gets when an artist, and was looking for signs and symbols by then and she had seemingly found one in Tory. They had apparently spent the entire day on a hammock, talking and drinking wine until they exchanged emails and phone-numbers and decided to keep in touch.

Veruca overheard Rosendo talking about how she heard Sonny on the phone the next morning, her voice so happy and laughing over the line, that she felt the old Sonny was back who had gotten lost somewhere along the way of her attempts to "keep it tight" and capture her inner soul. But not, they soon learned, for long.

The Salt family didn't know how much they'd needed Sonny until she was gone. All they had was her room, her stories, her drawings, and the quiet that settled in as they tried in vain to spread themselves out and fill the space she'd left behind.

. . .

The kitchen became mission control, full of ringing phones, loud voices, and panic. Mrs. Salt refused to leave the phone; positive that Sonny would call any minute and say it was all a joke, of _course_ she was still going to De Montfort. Meanwhile her other wealthy friends - who admittedly took up the company of her because of the boosting of their social status couldn't help but worry about Sonny - and the cleaning ladies that were on good terms with her circled through the mansion making fresh pots of coffee every five minutes, wiping the counters down, and clucking their tongue in packs by the patio door. Mr. Salt shut himself in his office to call everyone who'd ever know Sonny including his factory workers and every other child she had met when he took her along to meet his inner circle, hanging up each time to cross another name off the long list in front of him. She was twenty-one, so technically she couldn't be listed as a runaway. She was more like a soldier gone AWOL, still owing some service and on the lam.

They'd already tried one of the Smeath's apartments in Bedfordshire, but the number had been disconnected when their owner had gotten evicted. Then they called the _Jocky Jordanes Show, _where they kept getting an answering machine encouraging them to leave their experience with this week's topic - My Twin Dresses Like a Slut and I Can't Stand It! - so that a staffer could get back to them. He had even phoned her old school, Marley Pang's School for the Musically and Artistically Gifted, in hopes of getting any kind of clue. Right now he was phoning the early service of De Montfort, trying to keep the Smeath number.

"I can't believe she'd do this," Mrs. Salt kept saying. "De Montfort. She's supposed to be at _De Montfort_." And all the cleaning ladies and wealthy women around her would nod, or hand her more coffee, or cluck again.

Veruca, still inside Sonny's room, was sitting on her bed. She felt that her hair was twitching with all the negative energy coming from outside, and looking around she saw how neatly Sonny'd left everything. In a stack by the wide bureau was everything she and Tory had bought on endless Saturday trips to Bailey's Avery. She remembered those few mornings where Tory managed to make it past the front door and the two of them, on the floor, would groan about the things they'd have so far. They weren't roommates but they were in enough proximity to seem close enough. "I mean, God," Tory was like on Saturday back a few years in midst of June getting ready for their first year of university, "who knows the difference between a duvet and a comforter?" With Sonny's gold card, the list of items that the university suggested for all incoming freshmen, and a letter from Tory's future roommate, a girl from Berkshire. And apparently she'd already been in contact so that she and Tory could color-coordinate their bed linens, discuss who should bring what in the way of the telly, microwaves, and wall hangings, and just to "break the ice" so that by August, when classes started, they'd already "be like sisters." And from what she remembered it to be like, the dumb blonde with her stupid haircut and dumb problems, Tory was already glum about separating from Sonny by at least four doors and now the letter was pretty much doing her in.

"A duvet," Sonny had told her, stopping to eye the stack of thick purple towels Tory had come with, and looking down at linens magazine, "is a cover for a comforter, usually a down comforter. And a comforter is just a glorified quilt." Sonny always seemed to have the answers to everything, so sure about everything, having the kind of determination and answers able to keep Tory, amongst others, grounded by that kind of perfection. She was the type of person who would a break a sweat for everyone if it met being closer to perfection, and up until recently, she was going to live on perfection hill - to her, it was no longer something she saw coming to the horizon.

Veruca pushed some air from his lips in a unladylike fashion, beginning wonder how long she'd know she wouldn't use any of the new stuff she'd bought a month ago - the new pillowcases, fans (both manual and electric), a new little plastic basket to hold her shower stuff, more hangers, and her new blue comforter, still in its plastics - when she'd (most likely) hatched this plan with Tory. _She bloody fooled us, every one._

She had come back to Buckinghamshire beach tanned, gorgeous, and sloppy, and proceeded to spend about an hour each night on the phone long-distance with her, spending every bit of the money she'd saved up over the course of her summer.

"I miss you," she'd whisper to her, and Veruca, then still listening in by the door, would blush; she didn't even care that she was there. She'd be lying across the bed, twirling and twirling the cord around her wrist. "No, I miss you more. I do. Tor, I do. Okay. Good night. Love you too. What? More than anything. Hand on my heart, I swear. Okay. Love you too." And when she finally did hang up she'd pull her legs up against her chest, grinning stupidly, and sigh.

"You are _pathetic_," Veruca told her one night when it was particularly sickening, involving hairstyles and puppies and about four _cupcakes _and five _pumpkins. What type of friends talk to each other that way? _She'd wondered when she'd overhear Tory and Sonny in her room, her across her bed and Tory by the telly, zoning out except that when they talked she'd end a sentences with maybe, "Sure thing, cupcake," or "not really, puddin'".

"Oh, Rucy," she said, sighing again, suing that _insipid_ nickname rolling over on her bed and sitting up to look at Veruca's small figure. "Someday you'll find a best friend and this will happen to you."

"If you mean acting like a berk, then God, I hope not," Veruca said. "If I act like that, be sure to put me out of my misery. And when my will is read, stay away from my ponies."

"Oh, really," she said, raising one eyebrow. Then she closed her eyes, leaning her chin on the pillow at the foot of the bed, and breathed in. Even from here, Veruca could always decipher her sent of Ivory soap and fresh air. She looked asleep so Veruca started to march off, moody because she hadn't finished the conversation.

She had heard Sonny whisper quietly to herself, "You're such a pain in the arse. But I love you anyway."

That had been years before the entire situation. She must have probably have know even then she was leaving.

Looking up at her mirror, she looked at all the ribbons and pictures Sonny had taped around it: spelling bees, honor rolls, shots from the Cheshire Shopping District photo booth of her friends making faces and laughing, their arms looped around each other, most of them were the Smeaths and such. There was a picture of her sitting on the hood of someone's ugly car in cutoff jeans and a tie-dyed t-shirt, barefoot and wearing star-shaped sunglasses, laughing. There were a couple of them, too. One from a Christmas when Veruca was a baby, Mrs. Salt supporting her on Sonny's lap who had on a little red dress and white tights, leaning slightly against Mrs. Salt who was along with her daughter smiled. And one from a summer at another beach house, this time is Suffolk, sitting at the end of some dock with a very pregnant Mrs. Salt, legs dangling over, Sonny in a blue polka-dot bathing suit, and handing her Mother her Popsicle.

Alright, so maybe she _was_ jealous, now and then, but there was nothing to do but pale in comparison before demanding for another pet once the _stupid_ ceremony finished and Sonny could get off the stage and take his _dumb_ award home already. But Sonny came to all her mini-competitions, cheering the loudest for her when she was horseback-riding in a not-so-friendly race at her school. She was maybe the first one waiting for her when she came off the ice during the time where her Father bought her that ice rink (which funnily enough _I_ thought he'd buy her Ice_land_ when she said she wanted to be an figure skater) after falling on her arse four times in five minutes before demanding to be taken somewhere that'd make her happy. She didn't even say anything, just took off her mittens, gave them to Veruca who threw on the floor, and helped her back to the empty dressing room where Veruca, moodily with her lip almost pouting, sat there wanting to cry as Sonny unlaced her skates and told her terrible knock-knock jokes the whole time til Veruca told her to stop before she made her.

There was always a part of Veruca that was always looking forward to Sonny going off back to De Montfort at the end of the summer or every vacation. Her leaving might actually give her some room, a chance to not hear her over the phone through the surprisingly thin wall between their rooms, and maybe a chance to finally strike out on her own. But this, along with what happened at that awful Wonka's factory, changed everything.

_It's not like I always count on her to lead me, _she thought. Sonny was out there somewhere, but this time she'd taken her own route seriously, and for once Veruca couldn't demand the one thing she was wanting this very moment. This time, with everything so far, she'd left her to find her own way of getting things.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Well, things are starting to pick up again. I am now a HUGE fan of Imogen Heap, especially her latest work with **_**Heroes. **_**Her songs are just so catchy, and we're talking about just ONE chick. I thought it was an entire band but DAMN! She's awe-inspiring. Anywoo, now on with the story. Oh, and thank you to all the many reviewers who read my stories. I could've done without you guys (and girls, mostly).**

**BTW: I do not own the work of Roald Dahl. © is the fact that I own Sonny Salt and her friends.**

**Chapter Twelve**

One would think that a kidnapped girl would have no remembrance of what happened the previous night, and you'd be right. But Sonny Salt is _just _some kidnapped girl; in fact, you're kind of dumb for thinking that she's just so random. Shame on you for such a thought.

To reinforce the previous statement, the moment Sonny looked around the partially dark room and began to unravel herself from the pale sheets that smelled like its color, very vanilla and flesh, she remembered that she was paid a visit by Mr. Willy Wonka himself and after refusing a vacation at his factory and being handed some flowers she was now here. And she was stuck here with him.

She flat-out dropped her head into the pillow beside her, taking in the keen redolence of vanilla to enter her nostrils, and she wanted to be pulled right out of this room. But the minute she closed her eyes she realized that she hadn't dreamed at all in the while that she transported from her home to here. And now not even one fleeting image.

She was thinking about the events prior to this insipid awakening; right back to the Golden Ticket Contest, which was now maybe a month ago, if you counted today, the start of a new month. Everyone was going bonkers over Wonka candy bars throughout those six months before the contest. She recalled walking past a park on her way back to the nearest bus stop, where she saw one girl with eight whole bars, seemingly ready to divide them amongst the other seven kids that circled around her the minute she'd arrived.

Sonny wondered, _why am I such a big fan of chocolate?_ OK, even _she_ had to admit that she was starting to take that back, of course she loved it and sometimes it _did_ leave her a little clueless, like it was enjoying a secret joke that she wasn't in but it gave her fulfilling.

It wasn't just candy, too - people all over the world made movies like one that she loved, the title of it escaped her, but it centered on a mother and a daughter traveling to different towns with an almost theurgic chocolate business that supposedly transformed people's characters by revealing their desires. She was sure that she would have made Tory sit through it, not that she would have minded.

And people wrote books on the saga that went between with chocolate, like the book _Bittersweet Journey_ she saw up on display one day in Buckinghamshire after walking home from Bailey's Avery one day. And from what the subtitle said - "a moderately erotic novel of love, longing, and chocolate" - the book was right, that chocolate was all: tender, passionate, and thoroughly wonderful. It was right to be worshipped, like unto a god.

But she _did_ sometimes wonder if chocolate symbolized the end and beginning of things, like with her friend Rebecca; she never went anywhere remotely near the sweet stuff, and then Sonny remembered the story she told her about her parents. Apparently Rebecca's mother had thrown a fun-size bag of Wonka Semisweet Cherry Chocolates at her husband once, though that didn't symbolize the exact ending of their marriage but it _was_ close, Sonny had to admit…

Still, her adolescence was, in some sense, obliterated and Rebecca couldn't stand the sight of chocolate or anything remotely happy, that was whole another story. No matter how much she wanted to it, it made her very unhappy to a huge degree.

Nevertheless, it was just that chocolate was just - well, chocolate, it couldn't be anything else. There was some goodness in it that was virtuous yet unabashed.

With her jumbled thoughts, she decided against the churns of her stomach growls and wanted to give that Wonka a piece of her mind right this moment when she heard the door open as she opened her eyes in suit and in shock of what she saw she almost let out a shriek and caught her breath at the sight.

Just up to her knee, the deadpan-looking Oompa Loompa looked up at her as above its tiny arms, held above its head was a metal tray with a shinning cover. Sonny thought back to the Contest and realized that she hadn't gotten an up-close inspection and upon realizing it, the little man had eyes no darker and lightless than hers. She felt something of a kindred spirit, instantaneously.

She eyed him again, _that's quite a getup. _He had on a black jumpsuit, shiny even in the dim light, and it looked like it was made out of the small fabric that the other Oompa Loompas were wearing the day of the Contest tour. The fabric of the suit was shot with silver; the edges looked like they were trimmed in it.

Lifting a single brow, she stared back at him and he did the same. Thinking back to the Contest she tried to remember seeing if she had seen him, at least once and Sonny could possibly remember. _Darn, who knew that all Oompa Loompas looked alike? _She touched her chin faintly. _Oh yeah, I do._

Lifting her hand in a wave, still slightly touching her chin, she had the sort of look on her face that really said that she had no idea how to approach this greeting. She was starting to mumble under her breath, not even sure what she was saying, as she smelt a faint aroma coming from the top of the tray and in response took the tray off the little man's hand, who in reaction to looking up at her seemed to be have troubling keep still and looked grateful she took it off his hands.

"Sorry," Sonny said, though it was mostly to herself.

Watching the Oompa Loompa do some stretches, he looked up at her and crossed his arms over his chest and bowed, solemnly.

Sonny, hands preoccupied, could only return a simple nod with a small smile. "Uh, from Loompaland, yes?" Her offered smile received one from the little man, smiling widely, with the sort of look in her lightless eyes that thought he was impressed that she remembered. "I'm Sonny, it's, uh, nice to meet you."

Placing the tray down on the bed, she presented herself back in front of what should have been there, except now there was nothing but an empty spot and Sonny sighed a little, glancing at the wide door and calculating the thought of trying the doorknob.

It was mostly likely locked. And thinking back to what a tough time she had keeping with the chocolatier during the tour she decided that she wouldn't last around the factory for at least a single minute without getting lost; and mind you, she tends to get lost in fairly small places, like when Tory had brought her home to her home to meet her entire family and while on her way to the loo she managed to bimble around the place, not knowing which door would lead her from back to the living room to limbo.

Lifting the tray cover, she eyed what looked like homemade bacon that looked light and crunchy; she lifted her fork at the flapjacks bigger than the size of her hand, and lifted a strawberry from the top and licked away the whipped cream.

She giggled, relishing the flavor. It was utterly delectable, she'd been served the same things at home but this oozed what sounded like someone saying 'have a good day today!' All cheery, like no cloud could mess with your day, she already felt the one above her head starting to lessen.

The corner of her lips twitched at the sight of the scrambled eggs; she usually ate her eggs poached with ham in hollandaise sauce on a slice of toast or a split toasted English muffin, Benedict-esque. As she cut a slice of the fried tomato and placed it underneath one side of the toast and taking the other side, correlatively she took a bite. With the hashed browns, mushrooms, and baked beans Sonny was pretty sure that no only did she have a full English breakfast but she could feed all of the Smeath family, and that was a _huge_ family.

Frowning at the lack of coffee - _how old does he think I am? - _She looked towards her glass of milk and saw a piece of folded paper leaning against it. Unfolding with one hand as with her other she forked some mushroom into her mouth, she began to read:

"Dear Sonny," it read and she wondered how she knew her nickname, _unless he's been keeping tags on me, _she thought with a twitching eye.

_Welcome to my reverential factory…_

Sonny snorted, _that's a big word for such a self-indulged, big-headed, shallow fool._

_While you are a visitant in my abode, I hope that you will enjoy your stay here._

_Hmm, that must mean that I'll only be here for a while, _Sonny sipped the cup of milk and placed it back beside the orange juice. _If he says 'visitant'._

_You should also know that whether or not you will get another full tour of the factory will depend greatly on your behavior the next few days. _

She stopped reading, she wasn't going to stay another moment here, and another tour was out of the question. Blimey, what was he going to do now, throw Santa Claus down that gigantic rubbish bin after he tells her she's ugly and has no friends? _Besides, I don't think he can resist not giving just _anyone_ a tour of this place, _she wrinkled her nose. Crumpling the note in her fist, and throwing it over her shoulder, she stabbed viciously at another egg. _Maybe behaving like a nutter will get me my escape; _she thought against it, _he would be hoping for that._

She sighed loudly, frustrated, _come on, girl, thinking about stabbing a certain chocolatier and taking it out on the eggs isn't going to help. _Nevertheless, what _was_ was the only question running through Sonny's mind, as she looked around the spacious room. Judging from the size of it, it must have been tough to get out, so climbing out the window was not an option and with the snow melting there'd be nothing to land on.

She glanced at the light peeling through the drawn, heavy-looking curtains; she wondered what time it was. Getting up off the bed, she decided it'd be best to get a look on where she was, at least if she was going to try and contact someone. It'd be nice to get a better look on the small town that surrounded the factory, and what a nice look it was! More like amazing, everything looked so small from where she was, and it made her question how high this room was. Eyes searching, she gazed at the town and watch smoke rise from the chimneys of surrounding buildings. She could practically see every small house and business from where she was.

She turned her head and took in the décor - it all wasn't completely white and pale like the bed sheets, but slightly grey and yellow, with crème-colored reminiscent to what looked the texture of certain types of chocolate. The taste in furniture looked very inviting, light and soothing, the kind of pale but dark enough golden was almost the same shade as the frame of her bed at home.

_Home…_she sighed, moving back towards the tray she moved to the bed and lifted another hash brown to her mouth, chewing and swallowing with the kind of expression that made you think that life has kicked you in the shin and that it couldn't suck any harder than it already did. _Today is really going to suck._

. . .

Having watched the sun rise and take a place behind some white clouds Willy Wonka yawned, the Buckets would be expecting him for breakfast soon. And he felt like the world was on his shoulders, it wasn't the _best_ of feelings.

Oh, who was he kidding? It was one of the _worst_ feelings he has ever felt in a long time, next to when Charlie told him he'd rather stay with his f-f-f-…ordinary life in poverty than come to live with him at the factory. That feeling left him with a sinking, dark pit in her chest - well, it has gradually gotten smaller when he offered his proposition to him on the chance of one condition, but it had happened a few weeks prior to now, about two weeks before he went to see his f-f-f-…male parental unit that he had another revelation.

He was starting to prefer the company of the Buckets than the previous loneliness he felt before, and with the encumbrance of the new household the Buckets founds that the chocolatier was driving the limits that he had. Disquietingly as the Buckets were but kept their thoughts to themselves, with the exception of Grandpa George, as they were still getting used to his odd behaviors, not knowing if this was abnormal.

Bimbling around the factory at odd hours, at even when Charlie wasn't awake, there was uncanny glint of what looked like sadness in his eye. In honest truth it was starting to worry Charlie.

That was when he realized something, one night after the Buckets were starting to clear away the plates and such, dinner finally over as Willy made a team-effort with his protégé to stack their plates while Charlie handled the utensils that he saw something. It, in all honesty, could have happened in a snap but the way it happened and how he saw it, it slowed down; he saw Mr. Bucket peck Mrs. Bucket's cheek and how they were radiating, the energy they were emitting was…_unbelievable_. It was as though as soon as their eyes met, they were the only two in the world.

And Willy Wonka couldn't help but feel a little _envious_.

He always thought that being with another sounded…gross and cootie-infected and completely and peculiarly and particularly impossible to describe but he saw that even in a factory filled with Oompa Loompas and a family that he was _alone. _And that left him with another empty feeling he was starting to know all-too-well.

Thereupon he recalled back to the tour and remembered how weird he felt around the wart girl's sister; just thinking about it now got that gurgling in his stomach again but it felt…_good_. And she was pretty and that was something that, along with just thinking about her, tugged at his chest; it was a feeling that he wanted to share with the wart girl, one he felt he couldn't share with anybody else, just by that faint glimmer in her dark, lightless eyes it gave him a sense of…_hope_.

The moments he spent in her room, trying in vain to call Wendell on his mobile phone and glancing at her limp body on her, having wrapped her in her comforter because she looked cold, wondering what she was dreaming about made him realized that he, too, wanted that something special Mr. and Mrs. Bucket had, to look content and mirthful but he didn't want it with someone who was normal - commonplace folk were like vanilla, they didn't any flavor to them, they were boring. Not at all like chocolate - had she represented chocolate, in every way. From the looks of her life and how it looked from his angle her life seemed boring but she wasn't. She was the only thing he liked about the Salt family.

That's why he'd made the effort of lying to his f-f-f-…ménage and taking his breakfast to go and having it sent up to her, for when she woke up, he wanted her to feel right at home. She'd be staying long, anyway.

He sighed; just content enough thinking about her, wondering if her morning has been as good as his so far.

. . .

He was half right; Sonny Salt _did_ seem to be having a good morning, at best, though she preferred to say it was so-so. As soon as she stepped into the loo and turning the golden taps that matched the ones of the tub, bar of soap in hand as she stood over the sink, she inhaled the heavy scent of what smelled like mint. She scrubbed what felt like deep holes into her cheeks, wiggling her toes at the unbelievably soft carpet placed beside the sink.

She susurrated to herself. Remember when at the beginning Sonny said her life was terribly boring and repetitive? This wasn't your average, everyday uninterestingly boredom - in fact, now it is dubbed as the creepiness that starts to set in when you think a certain someone is totally good and stuff til he locks you in a room in his ginormous factory and now you realize he might be beyond creepy that you'd have to use a new word, in this case, skeevy. That was a _mouthful_. Moreover that is _not_ the point; the point is that today could REALLY suck.


	13. Chapter 13

DISCLAIMER: **HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! That's RIGHT, I came back for you and thanks to some persuasive encouraging by a reviewer named ****Cybernetic Mango**** (who is awesome and you should so go check out her profile) I've decided that like my heart, this story will go on. Nevertheless, really, I am sorry that I have not updated, I mean, I have been so preoccupied what with school and all and The Mighty Boosh. That's right, I am officially under their spell (I just saw their live show in Brixton and believe me, it was AWESOME, you must look into their fan fiction achieve because believe you will laugh, that and watch the show, too!) , theirs and my newly-found love for now only known as K. L. who I'm pretty sure likes me back. Yeah, I know, you wish you were me right, don't you? So do I. Anywoo, away we go!**

**BTW: **Sonny Salt, Tory Smeath and other character you don't recall ever hearing or reading about are mine ©. Everything else in the works of Roald Dahl.

**Chapter Thirteen**

Within Buckinghamshire, is Heatherfield, those who have already traveled there known that, as its name suggests, this certain borough of what is affectionately called Bucks, this place was once famous for its fields of heather. But here, heather is no longer found. In its place are only weeds…and silence.

It was daylight, the wind roared and the clouds looked surprisingly unearthly. The cold sky above the ground was a hollow silvered over the rare pinkish blue. Three figures, shaped precisely in the shape of three young women, one with silvery blond hair was trudging towards an extravagant palatial mansion with the two others, one with light ringlets and the other with dopey-looking eyes that were searching round with her companion.

"No one there?" The dopey-eyed one had to shout out to be heard by the blond, though her back remained turned, with her face glazed by the sight of the mansion.

The second tallest one, her light ringlets started to flap wildly about her orange cardigan, her eyebrows furrowed in a pungently obvious way. Her eyes arched as a bored expression crossed over her face, "Let's face it…" She removed one of her fine leather gloves to run a hand through her hair, not in an anxious manner, but as in a way to say that she was sick of this scene. She was. "…Sonny's gone."

The dopey-eyed girl began to absent-mindedly fiddle with the ringlets of her companion and began to pick debris out of the young woman's fine hair though she only succeeded in making her mutter and squirm from the now-apparent aggravation, trying to smile. "She didn't just vanish into thin air; people don't just disappear like that."

Another wind blew by and she dropped the tresses immediately, to hug herself for some warmth, only to have the blonde, who was still facing the house, clench her fists and squinted when some of her hair got into her eyes. "I think we'll see her again…"

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can feel it, Lupe. It's sort of a hunch…" No matter that the companions began to hurry away. They could all wait. They would all meet again.

. . .

A Moment Backward

. . .

Sonny Salt wanted to cry.

She wanted to race home as fast as her feet could take her, in fact, that was all she was thinking about when she realised that as she came out of the bathroom that she might never see her family again and that was all she could really think about.

She remembered something Tory had said one day when they were young, they were sitting in Tory's room and she had her hand brushing away Sonny's fringes from her tear-rimmed eyes, shushing her and saying, "You cry an awful lot. I guess that's why you are such a Poor Little Rich Girl, then, huh, wondertwin?" She couldn't recall what the reason for the unnecessary moisture was but she remembered that that was the first time Tory had begun to consider her her wondertwin. And that alone was enough to bring her to tears.

But that is what they did, because, now for some reason, Sonny felt as though she hadn't a good cry in a long while. This gave her a reason to have one.

You know how some adults will always be kids at heart, that at the end of the day, they will always be small enough to still be cradled into their parents' arms where the heart will always be and the safety is where it always sets in? Sonny was starting to realise that this was maybe the first time she has ever really yearned for her parents' arms, even as she stood there, shaking. She wanted them to save her from that scary man.

In case any of you do not know where we have left off, then you must be stupid because you haven't been reading the summary of this story, have you? And if you thought Sonny has lost some of her flare, if ever she had any to begin with, put yourself into her shoes if you were kidnapped and perhaps all means of plausible escape were unavailable. I'm sure the first thing you'd probably do is cry, as well.

She almost had no time to realise she was not alone anymore and look up properly as she was busy lifting her hands to wipe away the tears, new replacing old ones.

"Oh," she swallowed, forcing back a hiccup to say something, but then, she was too surprised to think of anything else to say. She would have liked a moment alone, but then, she'd be lying. "Er, hello again."

The Oompa-Loompa simply crossed its arms over its chest and gave a small bow. Sonny couldn't help but think that that mean 'Many Happy Returns' in a way.

It offered a smile and tilted its head in response that Sonny couldn't offer one back, simply holding in a tiny hand another folded up note and with a quirking brow she reached over to take it.

_Dear Sonny, _it began again.

_This is Randall, and he's an Oompa-Loompa. If you were listening the first time of the tour, then you'll know of his origins. And if you weren't, you really ought to perhaps get a hearing aid or put something into the space between your ears._

_Randall will be your chaperone and chronic aide on your globetrotting within my factory, as it is to only be accepted that one would have a certain wanderlust when they see my factory, I mean, who wouldn't?_

She shook her head at his giddiness to just want to talk endlessly about his factory, _the long-winded berk_.

_All you have to do is ask him for anything or to take you anywhere, and he will. Of course, betwixt reasons, certain areas shall be a no-go to you during your sojourn, understandably. If you need anything, be it food or…erm…things; simply pull the aurous cord right next to the bed. That means 'golden', by the way, and also that bed is yours now. Pull the cord and Randall will be there._

_I also wait to see you often around the factory and when I do, you don't need to say or do anything else. All I'll need to see is that darling smile of yours. _

_Your Host,_

_Willy Wonka._

Her fist crushed the pape. Sonny tried to keep control when she saw the worried look crossing over onto Randall the Oompa-Loompa's face at the eldest Salt child's expression. She frowned slightly but her anger was not waned.

She sighed, throwing the paper ball over her shoulder carelessly. "Randall," she said with a deadpan expression, "you are so lucky this isn't new to you. It'd be much too irritable for you," she did the childish thing and bent down, sitting there with her elbows on her knees so she tried to see eye-to-eye with an annoyed look. "Then again, I doubt you understand all of these feelings. Maybe you might never."

This time Randall crossed his arms again, except it was more against his chest than over it, as if he was taking Sonny's words to heart. His face was still deadpanned but he clearly could see where she was going with this. And Sonny saw that herself, too.

"Ugh," she had to remember to stop making unladylike sounds, "yes, yes, I know. 'What is that girl talking about?' and all the rest. I forgot I was really speaking to someone, it's hard not to, what with the first few minutes alone is this factory is, I don't know, alone by any chance. I've forgotten my manners, Randall," Sonny tilted her head to the side slightly, hoping to maybe get another bow, at least to have some proof the little creature had accepted her apology.

He remained still, but the look in his lightless eyes was clear to her and she smiled, the first in what felt like hours now.

Standing up, she walked towards the tray on the bed - _her_ bed, now - and forked a piece of cold piece of egg into her mouth. Keeping an eye off the tray, she was glad the little man had remained where he was, simply watching her. She sighed, "You don't suppose I can't see the _glorious _chocolatier now, would you?" There was an expected silence and expected looks and finally a sigh of exasperation. "I'm not surprised. Well then, would you like some eggs?"

And through the rest of her meal did Randall stay, faithfully and always on the move around the spacious room, around every corner to hand her a napkin or pass the knife or give her her glass of juice. Sonny had to spaz about, her head spinning as she watched him dart about, trying to insist that really she could feed herself. But by all means did she want the little creature away; she found his semi-presence comforting, although she felt she couldn't trust it, like he was here but he wasn't really.

Finally she hopped off the bed and motioned Randall over, his eyes looking up at her seriously as she swept a chunk of her frizzled hair over one shoulder. "I'd like you to take me around the factory, alright?" She tried to lose the condescending tone, "but first, could you possibly lend me some clothes? It's entirely rather broad to walk around all in nightgown like a tart."

Tugging gently, but firmly, at the rim of her nightgown Randall motioned her towards the door and followed him to a hallway she did not remember. The hall was long and rather nice looking, the floor and ceiling white and the walls a rich red. She saw that while other doors came into diverse colours, hers was bland and boring. It was off-white and for some reason she felt just like the door did, leaving her to sigh and hurry to keep up with the little Oompa-Loompa's speedy stride.

_Must be the quarter's wing, _she noted all the plaques over various doors: Eatable Marshmallow Pillow Bedroom, Luminous Lollies Bedroom, Lickable Wallpaper Bedroom and so forth. She looked in awe, wondering how on earth you were supposed sleep in a room you could practically eat. You'd be up all night chewing and swallowing and by sunrise you'd be busy licking your fingers and any other non-edible part of the room for some remains.

Leading her silently, Sonny looked around to be found in a florescent room with large, heavy-looking curtains lined with golden cords and shelves upon shelves stacked up neatly, on each were boxes that, upon closer inspection, had French names that only belonged to certain shoes companies. Sonny knew so because she remembered seeing almost the exact same thing in her Mother's closet.

Her shoulders buckled from the mere thought of her Mother, trying in vain to loosen up, only to nearly have a heart attack when what appeared to look a female Oompa Loompa gloomed onto her from behind with the assistance of two other Oompa Loompas with measuring tape in hopes of distracting her from her dejection.

In anything her dejection just went up; being measured reminded her of the awful times eh had when shopping with her Mother and how the help would joke about her figure, in a hushed way that really wasn't hushed at all. Either way, it still meant people looked. And stared. And did things with their clucking tongues and glances that made Sonny squirm and suddenly that dejected sinking feeling was there and she wanted to throw up.

Thankfully, she didn't because by the time she looked she realised where she was. She was in whatever kind of dressing room this was, and that meant, that freedom was near. It was near - she could almost taste it, Sonny knew. It was sweeter than the apple from the Garden of Eden, but just the thought also, strangely left her with almost…_bitter _feeling.

She sighed, letting one of the female Oompa-Loompas (who, by the way, just looked like Randall in a dress) turn away write her measurements down, and left Sonny to plop down on the floor. She dropped her hair from her hand, having been motioned to pick up for some certain measurements, and stared at her toes.

Sonny wanted to wear something nice and looking around, she could already tell that her Mother would still think it wasn't enough. Mrs. Salt had a tendency to think like that, just like Mr. Salt probably thought his eldest daughter would hostilely go into frenzy if he told there was only one donut left in the world. At least Mother knew where to draw the lines. "You're not a pretty girl, Alison," she remembered that her Father had been nice enough to inform her on a few occasions (as if she didn't remember the first time he told her to 'keep it tight'), "But you don't have to walk about stoop-shouldered and hunched." At least once a day he used to fill her in one more aspect of her public image - "like hair would be better cut short because it's too kinky," and "you're putting on too much weight," and "you wear clothes funny." If Sonny made a list of every comment Father made about her, you'd think she was a monstrosity. She may not be Miss America, but she was nit the abominable snowwoman.

Looking again, she definitely knew. _It still won't be enough, _biting the inside of her cheek she looked towards the nearest rack of clothing that all were a colour of perky yellow. Right that moment she envied a turtle, thinking it'd be nice to have a nice shell - to wear the same outfit every day, for your entire life. She sighed again, loudly this time and got a few side glances from the busy Oompa-Loompas. She didn't want to be stuck wearing her nightgown for the rest of her life, though, either. She hoped they wouldn't let her choose what she was going to wear, but from the looks of their own clothing, they might not choose anything appropriate by her standards, anyway.

She glanced up at the bright lights and just thought for a moment, thinking how she'd like a nice, dark blue dress. It'd really match her mood.

Her nose twitched, it sort of felt like she was trying to hold some pepper up there without sneezing, except she didn't sneeze and instead the twitching led her nose back to the rack of clothes and then they were blue. She blinked. The twitching went away and she took this opportunity to gulp and consider running away in her head.

It all was a dark blue, all coordinated differently with certain light blues and standing up to take a closer look she saw something she liked. Polka-doted blue with its end right above her ankles its blue was like a big bow, and the rest was off her shoulders and sleeveless. She felt the fabric and realised it was on.

. . .

Willy Wonka was thinking about Sonny Salt. This girl hadn't turned everything (if not anything) upside-down, though it was certainly changing direction - why, he thought even the Buckets noticed, even if they weren't aware of another presence in the factory. Her family happened to be recognized throughout Europe, and even most of that (what with the Golden Ticket Contest and all) was mostly his fact, it didn't really help to the situation. But it wasn't as though she were anyone important…like she had a right to even be in the factory or anything.

He murmured to himself; he did that when those familiar feelings of uncertainty uneasy and anything along those lines as a sort of compulsive reflex, like the way his gloves squeaked. He either did that, or if he was in the inspection of other, fidget and fiddle with his cane or gloves or at least fake a few facial gestures like a smile.

He knew it took more muscles to frown but he couldn't help it. He was starting to rethink the idea of being her here; in fact, the entire situation wasn't the only thing that was making him uncomfortable. She was, as well, even if she wasn't here, it was like could feel her dark eyes staring holes through him - it was like she saw through more easily than very few people (the few he'd been in contact with) did. That bothered him. And she was…_weird_. She seemed fully aware. And that made her…kind of…enthralling.

Willy was pretty sure it was a good thing. _Is it a good thing? _And then the gears and knobs in head that were an illustrative messes would just hit the brake and it was as though he was just standing there in his mind, having staggered and now he was just shuffling in what he felt was an attempt to find the answer to this question, and quickly because just from the way he was feeling he squeaked his gloves. _I think it's important._

His speedy stride was bimbling, and to be honest he was in one of the outer rooms, not quite out there but so secretive that it has to be inside-inside - that did not sound right, he _was_ Willy Wonka, after all, so everything's a secret. The point was, the place he was in was very accessible and he didn't really seem to be paying attention to his surroundings. He managed to stop himself before he bumped into anything and surprisingly the area didn't have as many Oompa-Loompas as the rest of the factory did. He was by his lonesome, you could say.

Now he didn't really want it any other; his protégé was helping Mrs. Bucket with some family matters, ones that involved the Grandparents, and Willy Wonka both didn't want to help and didn't want to interrupt anything…you know, icky. He was still shuffling about in his head, with his head down and the tips of auburn hair tracing lightly against his cheekbones, as he was literally walking in circles around the area. He was exasperated, why couldn't figure this out? Charlie thought he had the answers to everything and then this…_Ugh! _

About to lift his feet to definitely head to the Invention Room to cheer up and about to start murmuring to himself when something plunked against him with all the rage that was both audible and obvious in the harsh action. The action was meant to be acrid and believe me, when he started to fall backwards, it was starting to hurt but the way the person did it - it was plain to see that the person wasn't used to such aggressive nature, if that were the right word.

But that's what Sonny Salt did, she slammed against the chocolatier and she felt his neat and crisp scent try to enter her nostrils, except when he fell down she managed to end…_on top _of Wonka's upper back on all fours, the nice dress Wonka _felt_ she was wearing was making it hard to sit still and he was pretty sure she couldn't move in that dress but that wasn't the point.

Trying to forget about the blowzy tint going across his pale cheekbones made Wonka remember how to speak. And in truth, Sonny might have been in a trance herself, she didn't have a cherry-like hue to her face as she was much too busying trying to move the loose dark curls from her eyes without moving so nothing could distract her from her mission.

"Shortie! Heh, heh! Nice of you to…drop on by…"

She could have rolled her eyes all the way up to the spacious ceiling; _I don't care how much a _clever _chocolatier he is, that was one of the most stupid calls I've heard and I know something about stupid calls. _

Propping herself up straighter, at first wobbling in her expressive heels that she _borrowed _from the chocolatier so that one of her knees were putting upward and managed to lift her leg slightly and begin to dig the sharp heel into Willy's back and ignored the loud and aching "Owie!" and only kept repeating in her head that he deserved it to keep from feeling any remorse.

She dug deeper with her elbow this time. "I _dropped _on by," she began threateningly, "because _you kidnapped_ _me_." she hissed and added menacingly, "and I want you to take me back - _now."_

She tumbled her way off when Willy started to lean upward, letting out an "Oof!" as she rolled onto the red-carpeted floor and Willy pulled up first before she could make any sudden movements - and also to get a good look at her. The dress clearly looked too painfully tight to move in but she had enough fire in her to get back on her feet and glare up at the chocolatier.

"You _stole _from my family!" She barked.

"I _did _not!"

"When you _kidnap_ a daughter from someone's family, that's _stealing,_" her seething on the words was icy and she harrumphed at his indignant sniffing at her words. She looked she was ready to crouch and make an attempt to hit, though Willy didn't know where o when she started to look like she might any weird moves he said:

"Uh - don't do that, Shortie…No - don't!" His words seemed to make her consider her next moves as she narrowed her eyes with a quirked brow, arms crossed. He didn't think he'd get her to stop so quickly so he started to fidget with his gloves and Sonny just groaned.

"Will you listen to my demands?" She reiterated. "No, you _will_ listen to my demands, regardless. You berk, you are _well_ creepy, I hope you are aware. I would have popped round the back during the tour if I knew this but did you know - there is NO back? There is not EVEN a place to pop round back to? So let me out." He gritted his teeth. "You suppose good food and a nice bathroom are not enough to condone your actions?"

"You wanted a vacation! You told me yourself," at this point, he started to twirl his hair in a mock-girlish fashion, "'I want to getaway, a vacation, 'cause I'm Shortie and I'm a girl!'"

_Is that how he thinks I sound? _She did not curl her hair like some priss. "'Oh yeah, I'm Shortie and I lie and say I didn't say things when in truth I said them from the start and I use perfect grammar!'" He continued to mock, almost mercilessly. "'Nuh! Buckinghamshire!'" He just said randomly as if it served a purpose in the imitation, which in a way, it sort of did.

"You drugged me, you twit. You only heard what you wanted to hear, you sick perverted mallow!" She retorted. "And that's another thing, how did people fail to see a berk with a funny haircut kidnap a girl right out of a house bigger than your puny 'factory,'" She held up air-quotes with a placating tone.

Wonka's violet eyes narrowed, his pink lips making an 'O' as he shook his head slowly, "Ooh, you better that back, missy. If any that so-called 'mansion,'" he used his own air-quotes, "is the size of a toothpick. Not that you'd know…" He wished he had stopped himself but from the look on Sonny's face he knew the damage was already done.

"_Take_ _me_ _home_," she said through gritted teeth.

"Isn't there something else you should say," he putted to the left side of his funny haircut as in the place where his ear might be, to Sonny just growled, and it sounded like an angry kitten. Wonka said so:

"Aw, what's the matter? Does the angry and frustrated _kitten_ not know her _manners_?"

She stomped and finally just yelled in exasperation, "Fine," she said calmly, trying to unclench her fists, "I don't see why I should justify myself in front of a mysophobic berk who probably knows his factory is _microscopic. _although I suppose to you it's a kindred spirit considering it, like your brain, is smallish."

The chocolatier and her looked eyes, narrowed and steely, and then just barked a nonsensical word in aggravation before out turning one another and walk off at different directions. Wonka squeezing and clenching his hands, about to rip the fine fabric of his gloves and Sonny stopping only after five steps to yell "Randall! Take me back to my room!" and this meant only one thing.

This was war.


	14. Chapter 14

DISCLAIMER: **CAUGHT IN A BAD ROMANCE! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-mamaa! Gah, that Lady Gaga is so annoying yet so addictive; you know, the kind of song that you only put on your iPod just so you could hear the chorus and then you move past it to something less…annoying. Yeah. So, anywoo, welcome back my beloved reviewers and readers. It's good to be back again, even though I was just here, but okay. Before we start I have a request for all you - reviewers and readers alike, if you have any ideas for this story, don't be shy, either leave it your review and PM me! And I will try to fit as many as I can into the story. So, now, come with me to a journey through time and space!**

**BTW: **In regard to that comment I just made about your ideas, please note that includes using any of your characters, subjects, places, factory rooms, Oompa Loompas, topics, conversations with your utmost permission and trade marking that it is strictly yours as well as a link to your page. And I might even try to use other characters from other shows and movies and such.

**BTW2: **Roald Dahl owns everything else. © stands for that I own Sonny Salt and all the rest of the other characters that are clearly mine.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Sonny Salt supposed that stalking back to her empty, absolutely sublimely equipped room would have calmed her nerves. She thought that seeing what she was allowed to sleep in would have eased her over, at least a little. But instead, the room was shouting at her about how she should treat Wonka, you know, because if he was able to trap her in such a room, well that, at least it was a nice room - but then she realized, why should she care, her room was just the same at home, if anything it was _better_.

She punched the pillow, wanting to see the feathers come out. _It's all probably part of his whole little shrewd plan to make me feel guilty, that…that meatball head! _She hated using that kind of language; her Father told it wasn't ladylike.

She flopped over one of the large, fluffy pillows, seething for a minute. Her letting that Wonka ruin the rest of her day was fruitless and it wasn't getting her anywhere - _I mean, look at me, he even made me scare off poor Randall! _You would have not believed how fast an Oompa Loompa could take off when escorting the Salt child back to her room, the way she kept her arms at her side and just…well, she screamed. Loudly. Mostly nonsensical words, lots directed towards the infamous chocolatier.

She was so tired…but making her feet move back towards the lovely bathroom, she persisted and began to wash her face again. Proceeding along she found a toothbrush along with some other oral hygienic supplies in a drawer; it took _how_ long for Wonka to accommodate the needed necessities for his guests? She grumbled and very nearly choked on some toothpaste - she decided that it must have been Randall instead, only he was _that_ considerate.

Slipping out of her now pruned-up dress, she let it fall over a slick-looking chair by the wall outside the bathroom door so that she was standing in her underwear and began to stretch. She was moderately happy with her height when it came to her advantage, particularly with flexibility - reaching past her toes was never a hassle, and that was not very unusual for someone of her height.

She sunk down on a silky white rug, embroidered with a golden _W_, and started to reach for her feet, calmly. She could already feel herself waking up away from the anger, and that was good. She wanted to some push-ups, at least just ten…she wanted to be able to do ten without all this aching and pain. It wasn't from her weight, though, that part was easy.

Instead she just fell into a disordered fall, her fingers unintentionally tracing some circles into the lower ends of the _W_.

All of her hurt…and all she could think about were those awful things Wonka said…how he made her feel worse about her figure…how she wasn't a 'toothpick'…why was he so implausibly pompous? She wished her parents would find her…she wondered why Veruca was still such a brat…_why am I being so pessimistic._

Then, that's when it happened, every single thing that had been bothering her for the past few years were rushed out now, of all the wrong times, and Sonny couldn't wave them away or even turn the other cheek this time. The assault of anxiety and obsessive compulsive orders and constant mental, physical, and social pressure was just too much to hold back. Just a couple of hours of ago, her eyes were her dam and those tears she first had in her room broke the protective barrier she had been so close to perfecting and now all her work was ruined by, again, tears. Only this time there were bitter.

The curtains didn't block the midday sunlight from giving Sonny a warm sensation, as Randall had moved them earlier, and for a moment when Sonny moved her arm away from her eyes it wasn't dry the tears but to hide the light for her. Because of her dark eyes they seemed sensitive to major amounts of the sun.

Speaking of the sun, Wonka was as pale as a ghost. He probably was never exposed to the light in a few years, or so it seemed…

_Damn it…_Of all the people, Wonka should be the one she would think of _last_, if at all. In fact, she was pretty sure Wonka was at the top of her hate list, maybe somewhere below Saddam. He and his annoying, childish, irritating, infuriating way of…manipulating her. _He may have had those four other children and anyone else he caught in his web of illusions, but I'm not to letting him turn me into one of his collection of puppets-on-strings!_

But, honestly, _blimey, how do I ignore him when he's practically made his mark on every corner of this blasted room? _All of the _W_s were more than a tad bit difficult to ignore. Sonny couldn't wait to put this all behind her, to figure out a way back to Buckinghamshire, and her life would most assuredly go back to its normal, boring old self.

She sat up; running a hand through her mass of dark hair and undoing the dark blue ribbon those female Oompa-Loompas had been nice enough to accessorize for her, and decided a nice shower would do something….not the trick or any hyperbole like that, just…_something_. Maybe help her clear her head, maybe because she felt sweaty, Sonny wasn't sure but she dragged herself back to the bathroom.

The hot water was very easing on her muscles and what was better, Wonka didn't own it, so she was free to say that it felt quite pleasant if she liked.

Once she was out, she was bit disappointed she'd had to wear that dress again, but she shrugged inwardly - _well, life isn't perfect._ She was right. It didn't just present you with everything you needed, like a host with decent manners, some sensible shoes, and a fresh new set of clothes to wear, with attentive arms. It wasn't like she was complaining, either. Wonka just needed a new kind of manifestation for his…_courtesy_.

_Oh! And there I go again! _Thinking of that impracticable candy man whose main goals in life, it seemed to be, were to make candy and torment her!

She very nearly growled as she pulled on the dress, sucking in her stomach as she felt something was ready to rip. Viciously she hastily combed her fingers back through her hair and placing it in a side-sweep securely tied the ribbon around her tresses, which were starting to get crazily curly because she had forgotten to flat-iron her hair a day earlier, you know, because she was KIDNAPPED.

She didn't bother to make the bed, in a rather juvenile show of defiance to her host, and went to the door, slipping in the heels she was wearing. But then she stopped. She didn't know where she was going or whether or not it'd take her somewhere out of the hellhole. More importantly, she realized as she turned around to take a look at the golden cord beside her bed, it seems to hadn't left _her_ mark and it'd be _rude_ not to leave a present before she left.

She felt a rather dark spot in her heart opening up as she smirked and sauntering over to her bed, pulled the cord. It would have been _so_ rude, indeed.

* * *

**A/N: YESSS! I know, right? What was the point of this chapter, when i could have wrote the war bettwen chocolatier and Salt?!?! Well, it's the holidays and I had to finish this up early 'cos my family and I are getting ready to go somewhere for a few hours and I didn't want to leave this alone, it'd be bothering me the whole night and I'd feel guilty for not putting it up. And mind you, this is perhaps the first real dark thought Sonny's ever had, since the other one in Chappie 13 doesn't really count, 'cos the only evil thing she did was wear Wonka's heels and the rest wans't really evil, just y'know, very demanding like a certain someone you know...COUGHCOUGHVerucaCOUGHHACK. Now this is where the evil begins, and it needed it's own very vague chapter 'cos as Salt child and the oldest at that she isn't supposed to have evil thoughts - it's not prim and proper. But as the saying goes, que sera sera (whatever will be will be, whatever won't won't) and also so for this lonnng Authors Note and Merry Christmas and such and Happy new Years and I hope you all ahev a lovely holiday.**


	15. Chapter 15

**DISCLAIMER: **Well then…usually I'd say something peppy and annoyingly optimistic about what's to be read ahead of this disclaimer but frankly I have nothing to say because, well, I got dumped. By my boyfriend. A few months ago. By that asshole. And I still can't get over it - I've tried, my friends have counselled me but instead I've just become more and more…well, violent. I mean, _really_ violent. Scary, I know. Then somebody at school spread a nasty rumour that I was gonna kick my ex's ass and while that it's touching how every time he sees me in the hall he runs the other way, it still doesn't help. Now I'm even managing to push my friends away, all because his dumping on me. It…sucks, OK? Then I remembered that I had this story to finish and it'd necessarily get me down, because in all honesty I am gonna finish, I've just been…well, y'know, busy trying to keep myself from getting not-so-violent, writing my novel without procrastination, homework, my school exit project and trying to lift up my grades. Now this story wasn't going to be any trouble, believe me it's not, because…well I love this story dearly but then I remembered - it's a romance. The only thing I'm pretty much dreading. Then I remembered - I'm not doing this for me, I'm doing it all my readers and reviewers (who have all been kind enough to wait impatiently and still read my chapters - thanks all so much J) and that's really what matters. So here it goes…sorry if I'm a bit rusty.

**BTW: **Dahl still owes everything, the lucky guy. © For Sonny Salt and everything else that's obviously mine.

**Chapter Fifteen**

When Sonny Salt pulled the grand cord beside her bed she was expecting an Oompa-Loompa to come scurrying in, but surprisingly…she was alone.

No Randall. Nada, zilch, nothing at all.

That annoyed her to a _huge_ degree, I mean, just imagine how you'd feel if your supposed-to-be super-awesome-revenge-plan just got ruined with an onslaught of rainclouds. Not very good, at all. Sonny growled outwardly and just started tugging the cord over and over and _over_ - _where in the name of Adult Swim is Randall? Right when I need him most, he pulls a Houdini, now, all of the damn wrong times! _

Pulling viciously, she let out a surprised _'OW!' _when the long cord thumped onto her head. _Ugh…just bloody brilliant! _Growling again, she just jumped on the bed and started punching the pillows, angrily with bitter moisture at the edges of her eyes she just couldn't stop - she sniffed, mid-punch and just broke down - _again_.

She hated the sensation running through her, streaming from her tears, she felt like a _prisoner_…a _victim_…it was sickening…the sad part was, she was actually starting to believe she really _was_ the victim as she felt all the fluids her face could produce just start to escape…she groaned sadly, grabbing a pillow and biting it…_escape_, that word kept repeating itself in her head…

Wiping her nose messily with her hand, she just bit the pillow and wondered…_escape or do I leave my mark as a symbol of war, huh…_

Now was the time she was starting to question her importance at home; she knew the family would prosper fine without her as long as her Father didn't pass away any time soon, but…_No, what am I thinking? Of course I need to go home, regardless if I'm even needed there, I have to get home - they're all probably worried sick…At least I hope they are…_

Sonny really didn't know what to expect if her parents had even let alone notice that their daughter wasn't there anymore, afterall the Salt parents weren't ones to act…well, very parent-like. Sonny could never recall a time where she saw a hint of worry go across the face when Sonny or Veruca were in the inevitable trouble of injuring themselves…but then again after what happened to Veruca at the factory…Sonny frowned and decided that they were worrying about her and it was a matter of time before…they do _what_? What would they do? How would they know she was safe, more or less?

Pulling the trim of the pillow out of her mouth, she took a glance at the begrudgingly beautiful door and sighed. That door was her only way out of this suffocating room and beyond there - she didn't know what. _Obviously there's not going to be freedom, even if I get out of this room I'll still be in Wonka's factory - his world, and I won't know left from right, will I? _She closed her eyes, thinking hard, trying to remember the names of the rooms she'd seen while outside of her room with Randall. _Was it the Edible Marshmallow Room…no, how about the Lickable Lollies Room…no, I don't think that was it either. _

Exasperated, she threw a pillow at the door and just glared at it, venomously. _Whatever the rooms were, it doesn't matter, 'cos either way I won't be staying here one more minute - this is my own option of escape and_, she thought, pulling off her shoes and placing them gingerly on the bed_, I _did _say I going to leave my mark afterall. _

She unbuttoned the buttons of her dress slightly, touching her side-swept hair delicately and licked her chapped lips. Sonny didn't want to admit it, but, she didn't enjoy being a prisoner - no one does, really. She just grew up that way, in a prim household where she only got a limited amount of fun, even with her friends she still felt she was at bay, not able to do all the fun thing people her age normally did.

_Now is the best time to start having fun, I suppose, now or never. _

Sonny took a deep breath and shaking herself slightly; she blinked once and started towards the door.

. . .

Sonny Salt had to admit she was getting a bit ahead of herself, wouldn't you, the readers, agree?

The chocolatier seemed completely prepared if Sonny tried to escape blandly, and indeed when she touched the doorknob and delicately twisted it, she heard the sound that told her that her English bum was locked in and that now, after all that building up congruously, was the time to quit lamely.

Oh no, my dear readers, you forgot - Sonny isn't your average heroine. Oh no, not only did she try twisting the doorknob a couple of hundred times, she also banged on the door furiously with her hands _and_ her feet. Yes, that takes true moxie. She would have been even more of badass heroine if she'd shouted while banging on the door but you can't have everything, now can you?

Nevertheless, Sonny stood in front of the door impatiently, with her arms crossed. _Why I am even standing here like this? It's not as if this door's going to open magically…_Paranoid that she wasn't alone, she darted her eyes back and forth…_though that'd be nice. But no, doors don't open like that…they open with, um, keys and bobby pins. _

Currently, the claustrophobic vibe the room was airing out was just getting worse as Sonny searched the nightstand beside her bed frantically, biting her lips and cringing at the metallic taste of her blood. _Well done, Sonny, the one time I forget to do my hair up with bobby pins before I go to sleep - argh, I was supposed to, at least, before that twit took me away…God, you better give something to work with here because this day has been more crap as it goes. Satan, you owe me as well! _

The only things that caught Sonny's interest in the nightstand were a copy of worn-out _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies _book, a family of dust bunnies with the youngest child Sonny had named Herbert, and…a paper-clip. _Eu-bloody-reka! Oh yes, prepare to get stuffed, Wonka!_

About to joyously skip over and stick the paperclip she'd bend up, she stopped abruptly with a comprehensive look going across her face.

This wasn't going to work. Sonny just knew it; this wasn't a spy-movie and thus it wouldn't work. _I'd be pretty darn dumb to waste something as useful as this, whatever usefulness it is be unknown…_She glanced at her fingernails, which were quite long, and she tilted her head at the sight of them.

_I really ought to snip these, before I end up scratching someone's eyes out…ugh, I know whose eyes could really use some scratching right about now…_she clenched her fist as an image of Wonka crossed her mind but then flinched slightly at the amount of pain she'd caused herself when she was clenching.

Blinking at the same cuts she gave herself, she looked at the door's keyhole - which was shaped like her _favourite_ letter - and sighed. Mind you, this isn't the best way to shorten the length of your long nails but Sonny was willing to try anything to A) get out of this room and B) shorten his nails because she was just a girl like that.

It was Tory's idea to drag Sonny to the movie theatre to see a bad-reviewed old spy-movie; clearly Sonny didn't want to watch a blaxploitation film about a Shaft-wannabe trying to stop some pimp with a surprisingly-every-Wonka-esque fur coat - Sonny wanted to go see _Wall-E _in all honesty. Tory, however, had her heart set on the film because of it's special, one-night-only midnight viewing and Sonny couldn't resist her friend's infamous Puppy Dog Pout. Long story short, Sonny left the theatre lunging along a hyper Tory wondering if all that stuff the main character did was possible - obviously it wasn't but she couldn't help wondering in another world…

She had almost her entire finger jammed in that _'W' _keyhole, biting down on her tongue every time she felt one of the tumblers about to unlock and in the process cut her and leave her a fresh little line of blood. It dried fairly quickly though and when her finger didn't even remotely resemble the finger it used to be - what with it's cuts and broken nail, sonny realized it was worth it when the final tumbler unlocked and the door meant she could leave this insufferable room.

_. . ._

After the first few amazing minutes of freedom outside the room were done, Sonny came to a conclusion.

Sonny was truly lost.

She didn't have a watch obviously, but if she had to estimate at how long she'd been wandering the endless labyrinth of hallways and doors, she would guess at about an hour and a half since walking outside that room - which, by the way, she couldn't even spot again.

That claustrophobic feeling was returning at the repeating appearance of white corridors and circular windows, and she was running as fast as she could, hoping desperately that there was an end to these chambers. Her own loud footsteps were getting freakier and freakier to her own ears, and her slightly panicked breathing travelled down the passage sounded like a menacing whisper of some weird-o trying to annoy her.

Unexpectedly, a buzzing sound broke her from her musings. Sonny glanced around for a bee, but didn't find anything. No, her stimulated brain was over-reacting. She had not heard the low, buzzing echoes of her yelps of fear just now. And it wasn't her, either. She did not have a voice that resembled a bumble-bee's, anyway.

No…the sound seemed to be coming from…Sonny looked around and wondered how far she'd gotten, as she noticed strangely familiar doors and hovering right above her, with a walkway and a ladder and everything…was the Inventing Room…

She smirked, just staring at it for a moment, oh what wonders of mischief she could make there…


	16. Chapter 16

**DISCLAIMER: **Welly, welly, welly, well then. Guess who decided to update this story? No, not Oprah, you sillies! Sorry, I've been taking so long on it, though. I've been pretty busy, with essays and anything to keep myself busy, 'cos as one of my many dear reviewers said, I just have to do something to keep myself happy. So I've been playing video games. A lot of video games. Particularly Heavy Rain, which I'm still on, and BioShock 2, which I just finished recently; I had to skip over the first BioShock, though, 'cos I was playing it, right? And then I threw up - thankfully not on my PS3 since I can't afford an Xbox 360 (Hurray for poverty!), but yeah I threw up 'cos I got to a particularly gory part and well, I'm a lightweight, I couldn't take it. (Not to fret, though, 'cos it just means the game, along with its sequel is pure EPICNESS) So, yup yuppers, that'll be the first thing you think of as you read this chapter, me puking up a lung all over the floor as I get killed by a Splicer by accident since I can't continue playing as I have just thrown up. Enjoy!

**BTW: **Also, thank you all, yet again, for reviewing my story. Really, I love you all, very much. I'd like to thank: **Samantha, amy, Ihnldy (Just love the depth in your reviews!), Jessai'e (LUV you, girl *Blows you an exaggerated kiss*), Cybernetic Mango (your reviews always make me laugh), Raine44354, happy-smiling-cookie (a newbie to my story, thanks for reviewing and I hope you enjoy it *hands you some WELCOME cookies*), Nightcrawlerlover, Forgotten Memories of Night, watergoddesskasey, Gothic Lolita Siren, Jesse-Renee, Funazzachick, ryuzaki25, **and** VoidTunnel. **Not even this small paragraph can explain how much I love you all for reviewing my story. This story is all for you guys!

**BTW2: **Dahl still owns everything, © Sonny Salt and everything else, though, so no stealing unless you have my permission!

**Chapter Sixteen**

Sonny Salt was somewhat relieved to see that the Inventing Room was just how she'd last seen it.

Everything about the Inventing Room was still very outstanding, much to her chagrin; the machines were all still making some kind of noise, all of which seemed to be in tune just correctly that it all sounded like music. If Sonny stretched her neck out a bit, she could see some Oompa-Loompas, all in the same black jumpsuits they'd been in the last time she was here.

She scratched her cheek in thought, taking a glance back at the door before wiggling her toes (she had left her shoes in her room), all in a contemplative manner, of course. _What to do, what to do?_

For those of you readers who must have been zoning out during the last chapter, Sonny Salt has managed to leave her room and now she is here. In the Inventing Room. Please don't make your Beloved Narrator repeat the Room's name a million more times. Nevertheless, it was true; Sonny didn't know what to do now that she was here. Everything seemed to have a certain feel that said _Don't Touch _yet they also seemed to have a figurative sign that just shouted _Break Me_.

Sonny was at one of those stumps where one claims they are going to break everything in sight, but when they actually caught sight of everything that is everything of the room, one begins to panic simply because of the fact that there is so much stuff that one does not know where to start.

_I don't know why I'm just standing around, I should just break whatever is in way_…Sonny glanced up at the table of test tubes, vials, beakers, flasks and other things filled with different colored chemicals placed in absolute precision. _No, no…to knock down all of these things would be too…expected. _Curiously she picked up a vial, bringing it to her nose gingerly before smelling something too strong for her, which caused her to drop the vial into a flask of blue goo. _Oh doodums…_She shrugged, watched it float for a few seconds before turning away to inspect the rest of her surroundings.

What could she break, was the question running along Sonny's mind rapidly, as she tried to be on the look-out for any Oompa-Loompas catching her in sight. Sonny was never the expert at damaging things, especially if it were on purpose; that was more of Veruca's modus operandi. _Veruca…_Sonny couldn't stop herself from smiling at the thought of her little self-centered, pompous sister, just because she longed to just…hold her…and tell her how sorry she was that she'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye to her…or that she loved her…

She sighed, _come on, girl, focus; there's no time to dwell on that…at least not here._ Sonny just couldn't stop those thoughts, though, because a part of her was actually beginning to worry about what Wonka do to her if he found her - she was beginning to fear if she'd even be alive anymore…

_No, _she stopped herself firmly, _Wonka wouldn't do that…I think I can just convince him not to do anything drastic if he…no, easy, now, he won't find me outside my room. Simple as that, _she took an internal breath and tried to focus at the situation at hand.

_Hm, _she looked back at the table behind her_, I suppose I can start small…_Biting her lip, she shook away any worry from her and started to pick up small vials and drop them into any larger beakers and flasks, hoping this would be a good enough start.

She was surprised; she had to throw her arms over her face during the few times that dropping a certain vial into a beaker would cause a small explosion, coughing quietly and trying to fan away the strange powder the explosion had formed.

_All right,, then, that should be enough…_she looked at a small pile of that powder the explosion had formed, beginning to look more like dust, tempting her to just touch it…_no, it's not enough, there's got to be something more I can do - some more damage._

Moving away from the table, she tried to stay hidden, almost running into some Oompa-Loompas before she was able to crouch beneath a table, waiting for them to pass with any hope that they didn't hearing her worried breathing. _Darn, almost blew my cover…heh, when did I suddenly become a secret agent? _

Crawling out from the table a bit too quickly, she managed to whack her head into something made out of metal, according to the sound it made when it got aquatinted with her head. Fortunately the noise hadn't caused any Oompa-Loompas to hurry onto the scene, probably must have been a normal sound from the thing.

Achingly rubbing her head, she looked up at the thing; _it's that gum machine from the Contest Tour! _Sonny gaped in wonder, just at its reappearance (hurray for cameos!), it still looked as grand as it did before. The walls were circular and many wires could have been seen from the outside, the long white lever with the red knob on top almost hitting her in the face.

Sonny ran a hand through her hand, pushing her hair fringes back slickly, out of her eyes as she just stared at the machine. Slowly she felt a nasty smile going across her face…Pulling herself up, she took a firm stance and placing her hand on two of the machine small circular windows, she began to push the machine. Groaning from the tough time she was having, she nearly crushed her foot. _Come on, you blasted piece of scrap-mental, MOVE! _She let out a small yell when the machine finally started to move when she felt one of the other levers on the machine poke her roughly in the side. _Only Wonka is stupid enough to put such a machine on wheels…_It was truly all the more easier for her that is once she got the machine to budge, which thankfully she already had.

Shoving with all her might, she lost her footing at the right time, letting go of the machine Sonny watched the machine roll off…right into one of the metal catwalks hanging above near the ceiling, that was where one of the tall, extending piles of the machine crashed…Sonny looked out in a mixture of worry and…malevolence as two Oompa Loompas nearly lost their own balance off the catwalk and were now hanging off for their dear lives…

However, the machine didn't stop…it kept rolling…and rolling…_and_ rolling…til it ran bumpily over a wire and let loose a Ferris-Wheel-type machine…which started rolling towards her…

Now, as terrible as this all sounds, it wasn't that hard to avoid the thing. In fact, all Sonny had to do was step to the side slightly, watching it roll past her. _Goodness, did I do that? _She decided that if she ever saw Veruca, that she'd apologize for all those moments of meanness where she told Veruca that she was adopted…because now she was sure they were related, to have easily caused this more trouble just she does…

_Huh, you did good, girl, _she patted herself on the back with a dopey smile, watching all the Oompa-Loompas scrambling, too busy to notice her. _I really don't see why the fun has to end now…_With that thought, Sonny began to skip along after the Ferris-Wheel-type machine, patiently going after it, occasionally stopping to spin before continuing after the machine. She was laughing all along the way…

. . .

Wonka and Charlie decided to head to the Inventing Room bright and early, which in other words, meant Charlie having to gather ten Oompa-Loompas to help him pull the chocolatier out of his bed. Wonka was able to keep himself awake because whilst riding the Great Glass Elevator, little Charlie was chattering a mile a minute, about how to make Mrs. Bucket's Easter Gooey Marshmallow Bunnies. As much as Wonka was fond of Charlie (very fond, more like it), he didn't think he had time to bake them. He'd be much to be much to be busy handling the Salt girl…

When Charlie had his head turned to look in wonder at all the lights they were passing on the Elevator, just like he always did, Wonka closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think clearly…He needed to check up on her. The Salt girl, that is. Sonny, he remembered her name was. He had to check up on her; she must have been unbelievably annoyed since their last…er…little dispute. Wonka could just imagine her sitting on the bed, arms crossed huffily, then he imagined her crying - girls are often so emotional. _Gosh-galoshes, the little Christmas pudding is probably weeping her eyes out, all 'cos of that teensy, weensy comment. My, oh, me, girls really need to keep their pesky emotions under control._

He shook his head clear of these thoughts as he and Charlie entered the Inventing Room, saying, "Now, shall we pick up where we left off, hmm?"

Charlie smiled at his overly theatrical flourish, "As you wish, milord," which earned him one of Wonka's secret smiles he was starting to reserve just for him; Charlie's presence was doing that to him. He felt happier…yet sadder, like while part of him seems to be brightening up, another park is slowly, _very_ slowly getting darker…

Wonka glanced at a machine near Charlie that seemed to be…vibrating, very obviously, as Wonka tried not to let a look of dread cross his face. Before he could say anything, a loud _CRASH! _Was heard throughout the room as the chocolatier and the Contest winner watched as more than dozen Oompa-Loompa began to scatter around frantically.

Shoulders slumped, Wonka facepalmed loudly, groaning. Charlie nearly got whiplash where he thought he had heard the chocolatier mutter a swear-word, with wide eyes, about to ask if Wonka had just really said -

"_LOOK OUT!_" With expert quickness, Wonka grabbed Charlie by the collar and out of the way so that just in the knick of time, he was flattened by the Ferris-Wheel-type machine that was rolling past them, with more than dozen Oompa-Loompas trying to circle it and stop it, to no avail.

Grumpily, he let off of his protégé's collar when Charlie began to laugh, holding his sides as Wonka pulled out a fresh pair of gloves, this time a seasony color of dark blue, insisting that what has just happened wasn't funny at all. "You think it's funny trying to put me into cardiac arrest? And did you even think to wonder where all the candy sales might go, then, hmm?" Fuming now, Wonka wandered off to any other spitting machine, saying dark things under his breath to which Charlie came over and said, "Sorry, Mr. Wonka. Really I am, it's just," he laughed a little more, his tone of voice all silvery, "It is sheer comedy when you aren't in control. You know, of things? It just really, as you'd say, ruffles your feathers, that's all."

Watching Charlie hurry off to help the Oompa-Loompas gather the right equipment to stop most of the wires of other machines the Ferris-Wheel-type machine had rammed into, he was about to call for him when he stopped abruptly, which sounded a lot like this: "Char - _YOU!_" Not a great way to greet somebody, but he couldn't help, particularly because Sonny Salt was running around with her naked feet all over Wonka's clear floors and also mainly because Sonny was obviously the one responsible for that Ferris-Wheel-type machine-thingy breaking.

She must have been; she looked far too rambunctious in her now ripping, overly-tight dress, and with her hair getting more and more curly she was beginning to look a smaller modern-day Amazonian woman. Wonka gave a notable disappointed frown, she looked like a complete Neanderthal - when she arrived here, on the day of the tour, she looked so _pretty_…

Now, whilst our chocolatier thinks these cutesy thoughts, all that was running through Sonny's head was confrontation. "Well, golly good day, eh, _Maestro_," she sneered with a malevolent-looking smile, squatting on the floor with her legs closed, trying to get the dress to loose up, "You know, Wonka, if _that_ little gimmick wasn't enough for you, would you like for me to do a trick as well?"

She didn't exactly expect a nasty smile to start forming across his features, to which she gave a look of unladylike disdain, and said, "Ugh, nevermind then, if you're going to think like _that_."

Wonka gave a sarcastic look of disappointment, snapping his fingers with a quick arm-movement, as he said, "Darn it."

Sonny raised her eyebrows and decided to carry on, "Like I was saying, Wonka, are you ready to let me out of this blasted factory or do I have do more _convincing_?" There was an unpleasant edge to her voice which was making the hairs on Wonka's neck stand out. Nevertheless, he had to stay determined…he knew they was a reason he'd brought her here…he had to figure out…before it was too late…

"Didn't your parents ever teach you not to touch things that aren't yours, cricket?" Was his arrogant reply, crossing his arms. Right before he could supply one of the many witty replies he'd come up with in his head, he looked and saw that the Wonkawheel was….heading straight for Sonny…It felt like he had lost the power to speak, because he couldn't say anything, he couldn't even move…why wasn't he doing anything??

Sonny raised her eyebrows again at his agape expression, before looking over her shoulder, her eyes widened as she saw that that blasted wheel was coming right for her. Now, what Sonny intended to do was, be like a Greaser boy and just stop the thing by lifting her feet and keeping steady, just stopping the wheel…unfortunately, the thing just kept going, so Sonny started to run.

As fast as she could, and still the wheel was hot on her tail; why, she had to ease her way around the scattering Oompa-Loompas, not wanting to harm anyone, though that was easier said than done. So far, she'd already harshly shoved four or five of them out of her way, and hopefully out of danger of the wall flattening them. _Oh, god, god, god, god…_she bit her lips, _I really am going to die here, aren't I? _Just as she was about to scream out for the only thing she right now, she saw the vision of…the door…she was nearing the exit of this death-trap…

Panicking, she managed t push a table on wheels, full of beakers and vials and all the right (wrong) chemicals, in attempt to stop the wheel, if only for a moment. It did, but to little extent, the thing just kept charging…with all the strength she could muster, she reached the door and frantically turning the white wheel that was the handle, turning as hard and fast as she could, she took a relieved breath when the door finally opened…

…_Oh god…_

…_my aching sides, they are throbbing right now…_

…_am I…dead? Am I? Have I really just died here…without my friends or my family…?_

_Am I really…OWW! _

Sonny's head smacked into some kind of hard plastic as Sonny tried to reach up, to delicately touch her head, which seemed to be taking a lot of abuse today. _What? How in the hell…_she looked around, confused. She was…on that Pink Vessel, it must have been waiting here…for God-knows-what…she must have taken the wrong exit and ended up by the Chocolate River…_all of the Oompa-Loompas are just staring at me…_She could see why, turning upward to sit up, she saw that her little gimmick with that wheel had barricaded the door…breathing heavily, she looked on in what felt like…worry.

Oh god, she was actually worried…for that crazy chocolatier's sake…_well, not his sake, the Oompa-Loompas'; I never know, maybe my Randall could be trapped in there…whoa, since when has Randall ever in his life been _mine? She looked at the door and then at the gawking Oompa-Loompas, then at the door and back at the Oompa-Loompas. "Er…well, what are you all waiting for? An invitation? Start the boat, please!" Her need to leave this corridor immediately still doesn't excuse the fact that the minute the boat started to move, Sonny just has to hit her head against one of the seat behind her. _Oww..._


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **Never thought I'd be doing this any time soon but…er, I'm back? Well, that was anticlimactic, but yes, to make a long story short, I realized I should have not tried to fix what wasn't broken so right now I'm sitting down at my computer with some water, my iPod blasting "Earth, Wind, and Fire" and trying to get my creative juices flowing. Be prepared! For my story will RickRoll like you've never been RickRoll'd before!

**Chapter Seventeen**

Sonny Salt was cold.

She was freezing, actually.

What with waves of surprisingly cold chocolate (she must have been in some Arctic Tundra Chocolate part of the factory) against the back of her legs and then some, it was obvious why. The chocolate had been a warm cocoa, but now it looked almost like an icy black. The hard plastic benches to which Sonny was clinging to were cutting into her fingernails and her wrists. They were slippery as than a glacier, but she couldn't let go or she'd fall into that frigid chocolate, in which – no exaggeration – candy sharks were swarming beneath her.

The Oompa-Loompas had not slowed down ever since Sonny had crash-landed right into the Pink Vessel. She could only guess that perhaps it was because she had maybe interrupted some sort of Loompa Lunch Break or something. She didn't know; her head was throbbing too much to be doing any thinking. She had hit her head repeatedly against the benches behind her and because the Oompa-Loompas kept making massive turns through the tunnels Sonny recognized from the Contest Tour.

She closed her eyes as the vessel went wild from the current they were in, the rapid picking up as the fragrant smell of chocolate assaulted her senses. She hadn't smelled it as intensely as before, as all she could think about was falling off the vessel and to her death, but now it was everywhere in her system. She didn't feel that same vigorous vitality she had felt during the Contest Tour.

_Those sharks are still following us, _Sonny thought as she watched five dorsal fins making a b-line for the vessel. Even if they _were _made of candy (_Wonka wouldn't let _actual_ sharks go swimming in his chocolate_), Sonny didn't believe she stood against them. Since she was wearing nothing but an extremely tight but wrinkled blue dress without any shoes, she didn't have anything to protect herself from the sharks' razor-sharp teeth. _I just have to hang on...or else I face possible limb amputation, or, at the very least, excruciating pain._ Pain that would be worse than the pain she was already experiencing, maybe.

Sonny had to pull herself together. She groaned, gripping tighter to the bench as the vessel pulled another turn, sliding her slightly down the metal floor. _I will never know how those Oompa-Loompas ever get the hang of staying so...so still, in these types of conditions. They probably learned from their boss -_

She stopped groaning and let her eyes go protuberant at the thought of the Oompa-Loompas' boss. _Wonka... _It was funny how that single name seemed to be connected to all of the problems Sonny Salt had been facing recently. Actually, it wasn't funny at all. More like maddening. Ever since he had broken into her home and she told him that she didn't like his company (as if throwing her sister down a rubbish bin would have improved her opinion of him) and he had kidnapped her. The famous chocolatier had taken her from her home and trapped in this accursed factory. Wonka had been nothing but maddening ever since.

She should have just fallen forward, into the chocolate, and let the sharks eat her. She was even fairly certain the sharks _wanted_ to eat her. Letting some courage go through her veins, she inched over the edge of the vessel, still clinging onto the bench, her hair whipping at her face. She looked over into the chocolate as it thrashed against the vessel repeatedly.

Watching the chocolate, Sonny thought she would have been thinking about the water – it seemed like a natural response, after all having spent what felt like an hour traversing the chocolatey river. But all that was on Sonny's mind was home. The strange thing was that, now she couldn't tell which was her home or not. She pictured the palatial Salt house in Buckinghamshire with her parents and her little sister, but then she envisioned the quaintly dingy house of Tory and her family in the seediest part of Northumberland (_surely _they_ had been told that I've been gone...well, kidnapped, right?_).

She shook her head. Either one of the two would have been better than being trapped in this factory.

Loosening one arm from the bench, she gripped her free hand to the edge, careful not to let her elbow or any fingers touch the chocolate. She continued to peer into the chocolate. _You know, aside from the sharks and the blistering cold chocolate flying around, the chocolate is sort of...soothing. _The rapids had slowed, eventually just swishing the vessel back and forth...back and forth..._maybe if I just close my eyes, I'll wake up from this nightmare, maybe that was this is, just a bad dream..._

CLAP.

_Oww...what the-?_

The vessel had characteristically jerked back, causing Sonny to crash backwards into the bench behind her, her grip on both the bench ahead of her and the edge of the vessel broken. To add more injury to injury, after crashing backwards, she fell forward onto the bench she had holding onto for most of this 'joyride.' Luckily her chin broke her face's fall onto the cold plastic bench.

Using both hands, she began to hoist herself up with whatever lasting amounts of strength she had. She blew some air out her lips in an impatient way. The Oompa-Loompas turned around and raised their eyebrows. In their eyes, they saw a frustrated girl with frizzly hair, casting them dark looks. In Sonny's, she saw two dozen little people wearing blue suits, looking at her as if they couldn't believe she was even there.

They stared at each other until Sonny put her forehead down on the cold edge of the bench, sighing. After a minute or two of silence, she lifted her head and said, "Well? Aren't you going to start the boat?"

The Oompa-Loompas just stared. One of them seemed to be resisting the urge to laugh.

Sonny harrumphed, before sighing. "Please start the boat?"

That one Oompa-Loompa finally let out a laugh, but upon noticing that none of the others joined in, let his laughter die down awkwardly. He composed himself and kept his eyes on Sonny like the rest of them.

"ARGH! Why won't you all – look, I just want to go home, so could you please start the boat?" They weren't even the least bit startled by that unladylike noise she made. She tried again. "Surely you lot must understand what it's like to away from home for what feels like a lifetime? Yes?"

As if on cue, they all shook their heads.

That caught Sonny's attention. "What? But why not? Didn't Wonka take you from your homes? You have to understand, I mean, it's only natural."

They shook their heads.

How can you all be some apathetic? The man takes you from your homes and forces you to work in his factory and yet you all have this blasé attitude. Don't you miss your home at all?"

The Oompa-Loompas were starting to get offended and began to point. Not rudely, but to make some sort of statement. They were pointing at everything – the chocolate, the vessel, the benches, the...pair of spindly doors that Sonny hadn't noticed until now...

What did their pointing mean? "What are you trying to say?" She asked.

They kept on pointing. _Er...perhaps they live in this vessel...no, that's too mad to be true. Then again...or maybe they live inside there, where the door is. That is a rather nice, perhaps they have their own wing..._

Wait...

Sonny hesitated. "You're saying that...this is your home?"

Once again, they nodded, this time with smiles.

_I suppose they won't understand, they've been living here for too long. They probably think it's paradise_, Sonny thought.

Resting her head on her arms, eyes drooping, she blinked when she saw a single Oompa-Loompa stand up, walk over to her, and tug on her hand gently. She squinted; she couldn't tell if it was Randall. She watched it tug on her hand and point somewhere. She followed his finger, seeing it directly pointing at the spindly door.

"What?" she asked.

The Oompa-Loompa pointed at the door again. It wasn't too hard to see that he was really pointing at the door, which was in a covered entryway. The entryway seemed quite stable, unlike the bobbing vessel. Speaking of which, the vessel was waiting right against the side of the entryway, slammed right against a pair of clean steps. Aside from the opening of the entryway with the steps, the rest was like a little box, with a spindly purple fence surrounding it. A gate was opened to the steps.

She looked at the door again, the door seemed fairly normal for the factory; it was a primed door with stained glass and beautiful pale purple wood. On the shiny doorknob was a little sign that read in cursive letters: _The Superior Suite. _In even shinier, golden cursive, away from the purple spindly door, on what was the entryway read the words: _Corner Wing._

"You want me to go there?" She pointed at the door, just to be sure.

The Oompa-Loompa nodded, motioning for her to stand up. As she did, he kept his hold on her hand and after watching her bush some dust off her dress, he tugged her towards the edge of the boat. Stepping over it, she stood on one step. He gestured for her to go on.

"Wait – but..." she cast a glance at the lone purple door and how it was just a short walk away. She wanted to know what the Superior Suite was and if it somehow had a way out of the factory, maybe some sort of tunnel...

She turned around. "Can you -" the vessel was gone. It was as though it just picked up and flew away, it must have, because Sonny thought she would have heard it rowing away. But there was nothing. Just her alone on some surprisingly sturdy steps.

She looked around. _Where could have they gone? They can't have just vanished, I know they can't have...OH! _

Biting her lip, she cringed as she felt cold chocolate splash against her ankle. She found herself peering at the chocolate again. _Maybe they silently turned the vessel into a submarine and just like being difficult. _She tried to regain her thoughts, thinking about that tunnel... _Maybe I can find that tunnel again, it obviously leads to the outside of this factory, _she thought, remembering that day she saw that Oompa-Loompa there..._covered in minty chocolate slop_...she had to convince the prim and proper part of her that going through all of that would be worth it if she could get home.

_My, Wonka seems to be making a hobby out covering me and my sister in suspicious messes_, she thought absently, eyes still on the chocolate.

Going up two of the steps, she noticed that the chocolate, even without the vessel, had waves that were getting bigger, wetting her toes ever so slightly. Sonny crossed her arms, rubbing them in an attempt to warm up. She tried to remember the first room Wonka had shown her on the Contest Tour and how warm it was, hoping it would have some affect on her now. It didn't work.

Sonny slid down on the second steps, sitting on the third. _My bum is numb. Great. I can't feel my bum. _Suddenly, Sonny remembered how last winter she and her family were going away to Ireland, and how Tory thought she was lucky, when every other person in Buckinghamshire and Northumberland would be – to quote her directly – freezing their bums off. _Even without Ireland, even if only Tory knew. I'm freezing my bum off. Literally._

Straining her neck, Sonny was having a hard time staying awake. Usually, whether at home or in her dorm at De Montfort, she'd eaten a snack and then taken her 12:30 nap. She sneezed, wiping her nose on the back on her hand.

She could have sworn that this place was getting colder...

She tried not to think about the fact that she was in a way too tight blue dress. Instead, she pictured herself...not in a mink coat, but in _body armor_.

She wasn't her, Sonny Salt. She was...Astrid Valkyrie...and she was recruiting souls of fallen Amazon warriors and leading them to Valhalla. Everything she could remember from her Norse Mythology classes at De Montfort and from Tory's warrior video games. _I can do it. I can do _anything_._

Except that it wasn't Valhalla at the top of a cliff, just an endless ocean of chocolate...with (_oh what a surprise_) those sharks still swimming around. And Sonny had no body armor. _It makes no sense, really. If I was a warrior, I would not being running around in a tight dress. I don't care what those video games say, how do women expect to move around in those tight outfits of theirs? My dress doesn't even have a pocket where I could carry some weapons I could use as a warrior._

Then again, as a art major, Sonny had noticed that the role-playing-game directors never actually considered practicality or realism when outfitting their characters and models.

The sharks that were swarming below the steps, waiting to eat her when she finally dozed off and fell off the steps, were totally realistic.

_I swear, when I wound up the courage to get up off these steps and go through that door, I'm going to get out of this mad house, have Father hire a SWAT team, come back, and destroy Wonka._

"You know, you really ought to be smiling. Not a lot of people would have survived the blistering cold part of the factory."

Sonny froze. _Is that..._

"You, though, are doing great," Wonka was leaning against the fence...in the puffiest black fuzzy jacket she had ever since...when he broke into her home. It wasn't the same jacket, she was sure...he didn't have on that ridiculous top hat on, instead in its place was knit, ecru-colored wool hat that had a pretty purple _'W' _embellishment on its band. He had a pair of black squiggle-shaped perched prettily on his hat. Wonka had a prettily dainty way of wearing his accessories. "I can really see the grim determination on your face –"

If Sonny wasn't shivering, and her bum wasn't frozen, and if those steps weren't as slippery as she knew they clearly were, she would have made a jump for Wonka's throat. He must have been counting on it, because now he was easing closer to the end of the still open gate, his arms crossed.

The loon was still banging on. " – the sheer desperation of a girl reduced by circumstances to her most fundamental self," Wonka went on, "as she struggles in a world – nay, factory – where everyone and everything seems to be pitted against her –"

The funny thing was, Wonka had basically just described her current situation almost exactly. Sometimes that was her daily existence – except for the part about the factory and whatnot. Even with her friends Tory and Becky and Lupe, they were like incorporeal beings when it came to matters with the Salt family where everyone seemed to be against her, even her Mother, who really had her best interests at heart...occasionally. The life of old wealth is a dog-eat-dog world, nobody is your ally, not even your parents. _Least of all_, your own parents.

_God, why am I being so depressing?_

"I think you're supposed to be happy," Wonka said in that ridiculously fluttery voice of his. "Because that dress is from Robin Sparrows, and the store says that their clothes give girls the confidence they need to get the job done."

Oh. Well, when Wonka put it like that...

Sonny sat there quietly, not looking at Wonka as he said, "Happy, Starshine, be happy! We might be in the coldest area of the factory but that doesn't mean we're not having a good time!"

What had he called her 'starshine'? In her quietest voice, Sonny whispered, "Wonka, I'm freezing cold, there is chocolate on me when they shouldn't be, I was taken from my home...that are just some of the things I can list that are wrong with this situation. Why would I be having a good time?"

Wonka, for some reason, took this response in stride and instead, jumped up off his feet and leaned his stomach on the fence's edge, teetering. "I thought you might say something like that, and I was right. In case you haven't noticed, I tend to be right a lot. It's one of my many talents. Some might say I'm clairvoyant – or better yet, _eclair_voyant." He bit his lip with a huge smile. He kept leaning back and forth, still smiling, as though waiting for Sonny to get his joke.

"I survived all four years of secondary school, but," Sonny whispered, "I don't think I can survive such a terrible joke."

Then Wonka did something that was kind of expected of him. He laughed, a silvery one that no doubt belonged to him. It wasn't forced or strained to get rid of a foreboding awkward silence, he was honest-to-God laughing at something that wasn't a joke. Couldn't he see that Sonny wanted him nowhere near her unless it involved her hitting him?

"You're lucky I'm being such a good sport," he went on, chuckling as he said this. "Usually, when somebody deliberately messes with my factory, I go into Wonka Attack Mode, but that's why you're you, Starshine." He was almost close enough to whisper into Sonny's ear.

She pulled her head down, rubbing her arms faster, desperate to get warm so she could work up the confidence to deck Wonka.

"Sure, you dislodged the Wonder Wheel and destroyed some of my more expensive creations, but..." it was at this point that Wonka leaned backward, stood up straight, and leaned on the back of his hand looking out into the icy chocolate. "Meh, that's what you get for being an oh-so-clever chocolatier. Things happens, stuff breaks, you have to take trips to other dimensions to buy supplies. Either way, at the end of the day – oh, that rhymed! At the end of day, nay!" He chuckled, as though he just said the darnedest things. "In the end, it's not really about how you spend the day, it's about..." he stopped, fidgeting with his red gloves. "It's about..._who_ you spend it with. And, well, I sort of want to spend the day with you. Tomorrow. Say, about 9 o'clock?"

Sonny stopped shivering. She didn't stop rubbing her arms, but she stopped thinking about her frozen bum and that her feet were steadily freezing over (she had just noticed it now, she has never been too keen about her feet). She kept her head down, looking at the chocolate and the sharks.

She didn't know what to say.

Except...that that was the most obnoxious way of asking her out. At least, she _thought_ he was. No, he had asked her. Guys only spent that much time philosophizing if it had a point to it. And he had just made it.

And he was still going. "I've decided to let the wonder Wheel flap-doodle slide, and maybe give you a tour of the factory. You know, since, well, since your warty sister got thrown the garbage bin and you two had to leave. The rest of the factory is really –"

Sonny had let out a single exhale that stopped Wonka's tangent. That sparked something in her.

"Firstly," she said, her voice groggy. "Don't insult my sister. She may have a few flaws but she isn't as warty as everyone thinks. In fact, the only warty person I see here is you. You have got to be the," she inhaled her breath, readying herself. She stood up, head still turned, "wartiest, most unpleasant person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. And the sad part is that I spent years thinking you were some sort of deity to be worshiped upon, only to meet a childish, loony-bird who is a pervert."

That caught Wonka's attention. He gasped, putting a hand on his chest, a look of offense crossing his face.

"Well, you're acting Garfield on a Monday," Wonka retorted. "And I'll have you know that when you're angry, you revert back to some tacky Cockney accent. One which is _not_ cute on you."

"That's another thing. See, you don't have the right to call me cute. You're just – just a big old..." At last Sonny turned around, fully applying a fake Cockney accent just to mess with him, "pervert. Inviting five children to your factory and dropping them off, one by one. That is well creepy."

"_Don't_ go talking about things a little girl like you _wouldn't_ understand," for a second, Wonka seemed to turn almost...serious for a moment. "Little snobs like you don't get the things that I know."

"Ohhh," Sonny fake-moaned, clamping her hands together, rolling her eyes, "excuse-moi for intruding on your life. Oh, pardon, I believe it's the other way around. You're the intruder, but I _don't_ intend to be a victim."

"Ohh...'" Wonka mimicked in a high-pitched (well, higher-pitched) British accent, "'You're the intruder but I don't intend to be a victim. My, my, isn't fun speaking in an accent everybody thinks is cool?'"

Two could play it that way.

"'Ooh, look at me, I'm Willy Wonka and all I do is stand around, bossing Oompa-Loompas around, and do poor English impressions. Gosh, people sure think I'm a genius but in actuality, I'm just a wart on society."

"I do not sound like that. You're making me sound like Goofy," Wonka said.

"Seems about right, considering that's just what you are."

"I don't have to take this from you. I've got other important things to do. Here in my amazing, unsurpassed-chocolate-in-the-whole-universe propagating factory. You could have watched me but nooo," Wonka turned his head, crossing his arms. "You had to act all warty like that wart –"

"Don't you dare talk about my sister like that again!" Sonny yelled, clenching her fists. "Do I go around taking your family down a peg? No! You're just an obnoxious man who needs to put other people down to feel better about himself and this ghost of a factory!"

"My factory is very much alive!"

"I find that hard to believe. From where I've been today, it's like a ghost town here. Your presence here isn't doing much to change my opinion. Just a weird guy with a bunch of servants in a big house. Face it, you live no differently than some of the so-called snobs."

"As a matter of fact, this factory is not a ghost town. Fortunately, I've got my own f-f-...kin to take care of, thanks very much. Your concern is _touching_." Nothing satisfied Wonka more than throwing someone's words right back at them whilst also improving their grammar.

"Wait...you're _married_?" Sonny was strangely dismayed.

"Oh _no_. No, no, no, no, no!" Wonka exclaimed, almost laughing. "No, I'm not married. I –"

"It seems that I figured that out by the first two words you said," Sonny cut off him, happy that she did so annoyingly that it seemed to ruffle Wonka's feathers.

Wonka ruffled her feathers right back. "Oh, please, don't stop talking on my accord. _Do_ go on." He waved his hand dismissively. Still, his feathers remained ruffled and he said, quite seriously for a moment, "If you must be so nosy, I do have kin to take care of. Nosy Nancy." Sonny wondered why he was telling her this. "At least try to enjoy yourself. Now that you're here, you can finally get that vacation we were talking about back at the Salty Headquarters."

Sonny brushed a large chunk of frizzy hair over her shoulder. "I said no such thing!"

"Uh, _yeah_, you did. And I said that you should have your vacation at the factory –"

"And then you kidnapped me. I know, I was there," Sonny glared. "As I remember quite clearly, I told you before that I can't stand you. Which is why I'm going to have decline your offer to spend the day with you tomorrow. I would much prefer the offer when you offer to take me home and then give yourself up the authorities."

"What?" Wonka exclaimed. "You said you couldn't take a vacation and now you're here, in the factory, you can take that vacation."

"And I don't want to," Sonny seethed. "The truth is, I don't want a vacation. Neither from my home nor my life. If being kidnapped and hauled off to a different town means having a vacation, then I'll do fine without one."

"But you can't possibly enjoy your life," Wonka replied. "Who would? A wart for a sister, a snobby f-f-..male parental unit, and...well, I haven't really met your female parental unit, but I'm going to correctly guess that she's a snob, too. Someone as different as you can't by any means enjoy being around those _braggarts_."

"Those braggarts are my family and they aren't as bad as you make them out to be," Sonny was sick of people calling her family a bunch of snobs. They weren't – sure, they hadn't won the Noble Peace Prize but they ate dinner together, talked, shared memories, had fun together, worried about each other. They did everything every other family did. "My father, my mother, and my sister care about me. They talk to me. They act normal around me. They don't see me as this made-up image you see of me as someone different – they see me as _me_. But you wouldn't understand. People like you – the real snobs – don't understand."

Wonka decided to play dirty. "If they care about you so much, then – then why haven't they tried looking for you?"

Sonny didn't know what to say.

Wonka went on, "But, oh, you have a perfect life and who am _I_ to intrude on it? Hmm?"

He was right. Sonny should have been happy. What could she possibly have to be unhappy about, anyway? She had everything a girl her age could want: she was an art major for an amazing university, not only that but she managed to land herself a job under one of teachers and she was more than well compensated. She had her own two-bedroom dorm in one of the many fanciful dormitories of De Montfort, the other bed unoccupied as her roommate had transferred schools in the middle of the year and they had decided to let her live alone. She had the best hilarious friends in the world who routinely got them into all the bets party spots in Northumberland.

She was rich. She had designer wardrobe in her overstuffed closets, and Frette sheets on her king-size bed, an en suite master bath, a gourmet chef's kitchen in the Salt House with black granite counters and all Sub-Zero appliances, and a dozen full-time housekeepers slash masseuses.

She was even still doing pretty well in class (despite the late nights and oh-so-painful early mornings, thanks to Tory). OK, so she had failed a single class (Astronomy) but that was only because Tory kept ripping her out of night class to head to parties where she could wave her butt around on the dance floor. It wasn't as though her parents knew about that one class, and Sonny knew that she spent every spare minute of her time studying, she could maybe even get extra credit. Not too shabby for a girl who had spent a month of this past semester lying around in bed drawing.

So why was she so bloody depressed?

Sinking down onto the steps, Sonny wasn't sure if those were her toes or Popsicles. She also didn't care.

Wonka must have noticed her keeping her eyes on that still persistent sharks because he said, "Those are my Smarties Shark Candy. Don't worry. I made them in the shape of nurse sharks, so they're perfectly harmless, they're more scared of us than we are of them. I let them swim around him because they're attracted to the bright lights. They're not hanging around because they want you for a midnight snack? But really, how knows? They've never tasted Salt Girl before. I'm betting they'd find you delicious."

Sonny eyed Wonka's grin and decided not to say anything. She also decided to ignore the faint way her stomach did a somersault at his words.

That was when she remembered. Why she was so depressed, that is.

That was also when she, while trying to stand up, she slipped down the steps.

It was just that, suddenly, being eaten by candy sharks seemed preferable to hearing anymore of Wonka's chattering.

She heard Wonka let out a faint scream from the entryway. But part of her didn't care.

She hit the water backward. It was even colder than she had imagined it would be. All the breath was sucked away from her body. The shock was so intense, that for a split second Sonny wondered if a shark had bitten her in half. She knew from a documentary Tory and her had once watched that a shark's teeth were so sharp, their victims didn't even feel the initial CRUNCH. They often weren't even aware they had been bitten til they saw the blood.

Bloodcurdling cold wasn't the only thing she experienced as she hit the chocolate. She was also plunged into darkness. At least at first. Until her vision adjusted to the murky chocolatey-ness, and she saw that the lights from the ceiling had lit up the chocolate around her.

That was when Sonny knew that she hadn't been bitten in half, that there was no swirling blood around her, and that the dark blobs she was seeing were just the nurse sharks, trying frantically to get away from her. Not surprisingly, she couldn't see her own hair, so dark that it blended in in the chocolate. She felt it swaying around her dark seaweed. She recalled that time where Tory had spent nearly two hours working on Sonny's dark tresses to make them perfect. Tory, who prized her friend's hair, would have been pissed if she were here to see Sonny resurface, as a chocolatey mermaid.

If she resurfaced.

She thought it was rather nice down there. Cold, yes, but peaceful, and quiet. _Mermaids have the right idea. God, what was Ariel thinking, wanting to live on land, anyway?_

It was amazing, and for a few seconds, Sonny forgot how cold and miserable she was, and that she couldn't feel her butt or her feet, and how she couldn't breathe and was quite possibly drowning.

But then, what did she have to live for, anyway. Sure, she was rich, and she had access to her family's private plane and she didn't have to do her own dishes and she could get all the lip gloss she could ever want.

But she had never actually cared for lip gloss. The fact was, her life was just a grayness, just like this chocolate and it was attempting to swallow her alive and she couldn't do anything. She couldn't even do anything about her own name – Alison. Sometimes, just saying it loud made her want to retch; Alison really was a lovely name, but it just gave the wrong message. It meant "noble kind" making it a very WASP-like name and while it was nice to feel noble, the name began to quietly make her head spin, so she went by the nickname of Sonny. Obviously, her Mother was expecting a prudish, socially devout, waltzing ray of sunshine when she was looking through baby names. Instead she got her – surprise. No waltzing and certainly no sunshine.

So what was the point of living? _I mean, really? _

Then, as if it were a message sent from her guardian angel, she thought about...drawing, and how it was something she didn't avoid. It was something that started out as a shape or a piece of fruit could turn into an image that peered into your soul. Another thing had to be my friend Tory. Despite the staggering odds against her, she managed to find the best friend a sad rich girl like herself can ever hope for: the one, the only, Tory Smeath, she was the one who nursed her back to social health. Pretty soon, her Mother and Father and sister floated into her mind. They had always been there for her, even if they weren't saying anything or worse, saying something rude, knowing that they were was more than enough.

She figured she would just stay down here. It was a lot less stressful, in a lot of ways, than her real life. She might as well inhale the surrounding chocolate while she was at it. After all, chocolate _was _the best medicine and it seemed as though she was in desperate withdrawal right now.

The next thing she knew, though, there was an enormous splash beside her. And suddenly Wonka, fully clothed, was swimming her, and had grabbed her, and pulling her – gasping and choking and sticky – to the surface, then pulling her up the steps of the entryway and onto its landing.

Sonny was a little angry, and also shivering uncontrollably.

OK, so maybe she didn't really want to live at the bottom of a chocolate ocean. But she didn't need to be rescued, either. She wasn't really going to stay under there til her lungs were and she choked to death on chocolate.

When she blinked, she saw Wonka leaning on his arms, towering over her as he was crouched down beside her, peering at her...was that concern on his face.

"Oh, Sweet Sugary God, are you OK?" Wonka asked. Only his lower half was covered in chocolate, his hair and hat remained untouched. As was his fuzzy coat, which Sonny realized he had discarded onto the landing and was now wrapping it around her.

For once, Wonka had asked a good question. Was Sonny OK? That was something she had been asking herself for more than a while now.

Wonka reached up and began to try and button the coat, obviously not realizing Sonny's personal bubble. She reacted by reflex. She smacked him. Hard, in the cheek. Knocked off his hat, too.

She sat up, shrugging out of the coat. "You are NEVER to lay a hand on me again! From this point on any part of YOU that touches ME you will NOT BE GETTING BACK!"

Wonka touched his cheeks, surprised by all means. He had saved her from drowning but that was no matter. She didn't ask to be rescued. He simply wrinkled his brow and held himself straight. Leaning away, he said, "I do believe that Satan himself would run with his tail between his legs from that viper temper of yours."

Sonny crossed her sticky arms. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because –"

"WHY are you so rude to me?" Sonny interrupted.

"Oh, but I'm not rude. You're just insignificant."

She glared. "...And YOU'RE proof that evolution can go backwards!"

"If your brains were taxed, you would get a rebate!"

"If you were any more mindless, you would have to be watered twice a week!"

"...If I gave you a penny for your thoughts I'd get change!"

Sonny rolled her eyes. "Nothing you say can offend me, Mr. Wonka –"

"– Willy."

"– Because I'm just glad you're stringing words into sentences now." She was about to cross her arms when she noticed something sitting safely in front of the forgotten door...

Wonka crossed his arms, smirking his perfect smile. "Hmph. Nice try, Starshine. But you have no power over m – AIIIIIIIIEEE!" Wonka grabbed his bobbed hair in clumps at the sight he saw.

What Sonny had spotted by the door was a metal tray of a teapot, a pair of cups, scones, and right there sitting neatly at the door was Wonka's purple top hat. Glad to find the teapot still piping hot, she pretended to dip the nozzle as she held out the top hat like a magician. She smiled serenely. "I'm sorry, what was that you were saying? Something about me holding no power over your?"

Wonka's purple eyes doubled, bulging out at the sight of his hat and the teapot. "No, don't! For the love of all that is Good and Sugary, DON'T! The felt will SHRINK! Please, no!"

Sonny lowered the teapot and eyed the hat. "It will shrink? And this is a bad thing because...?"

He waved his hands up and down. "BECAUSE! JUST, BECAUSE!"

She placed the teapot down, instead staring at the hat. "Even for a top hat, it's far too large. Come to think of it, I've never seen one larger..." _Oh, I have got the best idea..._ She smirked.

Lifting a single chocolate-smeared eyebrow, she asked, still smirking, "Are you trying to compensate for something? Do tell?" Sonny immediately knew why dirty jokes were fun.

Apparently Wonka didn't think so. Well, actually, he was just sort of standing there, pointing at her, mouth open, not even blinking,

Eyes narrowed into playful slits, Sonny walked up, still smirking but now softly. With the hat behind her back, she walked, pulled off Wonka's knit cap (discarding it onto the floor), put the top hat in his head and did something she thought was quite nice. She ran a single chocolatey finger down Wonka's chocolate-speckled chin slowly, still smirking, before lifting her finger and shutting his mouth. His eyes followed her.

Job done, she walked right back him, head high and nose in the air. Sonny was quite proud of herself, she didn't know she could pull of being minx-like while covered chocolate.


End file.
